


Adventures of Kalo and Imogen Fidele AKA I'm a slut for Abnur Tharn and have no control

by TaergaLive



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2020-10-30 06:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaergaLive/pseuds/TaergaLive
Summary: As the title states. I couldn't help myself. I really wanted to write something with Tharn so I did. Just a series of one-shots involving Tharn and my ocs. Takes place after the main quest and during Elswyr.For those who read Refractions, it ain't the same Imogen. I'm creative and just use reiterations of the same character for anything Elder Scrolls related.





	1. Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> I have to make notes otherwise this will turn into a full-blown novella and I ain't about to do my boy Neloth like that since I still gotta work on that story. So while I get my ass going on that story, I'll write some fun one-shots because I am a slut for Abnur Tharn. 
> 
> This story takes place after the main quest line and during Elswyr, so spoilers. 
> 
> My two characters are Imogen and Kalo Fidele. Kalo is a 13-year-old Imperial boy who was the vestige during the main plot. Imogen is his older adult sister who acts more like his mother. The two of them are children in a noble Imperial family; their Uncle is (or was he may be dead idk) of Leyawiin before the war and planemeld broke out. Their mother died a year or two after Kalo was born. She was the mage in their family, and Imogen started to follow in her footsteps. 
> 
> Also I've decided that Abnur's 7th wife is dead because I am the god of this world and I feel it would be better if she were dead rather than cheated on. Imogen ain't no side hoe.
> 
> Okay enough notes. Onto the nightmare.

"I was beginning to suspect you were never going to arrive."

As the young Kalo led his sister inside the Khajiiti building, they heard snippets of what sounded like an argument. Imogen hadn't focused on the words; she was much more interested in the architecture, admiring the paneling and the shape of the room. Vastly different from the room she and her brother had taken refuge in Glenumbra, and very different from their home in Cyrodiil.

Abnur Tharn's voice had pulled her attention away from such thoughts. 

"After Calsivius and my half-sister manipulated us into inadvertently releasing a rage of Dragons, Elsweyr has been overrun by the beasts," he said, aiming his attention to Kalo. He gave the boy a wry smile. "We do bear some responsibility, I suppose."

Kalo's only response was a toothy grin. While he was old enough to realize and understand the repercussions of such a disaster, he couldn't hide his excitement. Dragons! Real dragons! He was starting to get restless after months without a real challenge. After wrestling with the Prince of Schemes, fighting bandits was starting to get dull. 

It took her a moment, a hesitation that always seemed to come about whenever she first would see Tharn. But Imogen found her voice. "A...rage of dragons?"

His smile turned into his trademark smirk. "So much better than flock or herd, don't you think? Now, pay attention. The Khajiiti Defense Force isn't prepared to deal with a threat as big as Dragons. Especially since they were fighting to liberate Rimmen when the huge beasts arrived-"

Imogen interjected. "Wait, who are the-?"

"Stay focused," Tharn countered, holding his hands up to the bewildered older sister. "We'll deal with that later. Right now, we must assist the Defense Force." He then shifted his attention to Kalo. "Rendezvous with us at their command post."

Eagerly, the boy saluted. His sister, however, frowned and flicked the boy's cheek. "Take this seriously," she chided. "People are dying." Or at least she assumed. Her head was honestly still spinning. When Kalo had convinced her to travel to Elswyr to help Abnur Tharn defeat a bunch of dragons...well, she thought her brother was just telling stories.

Despite the situation, Tharn smirked at the boy. "Yes, mind your sister. This is serious. You've proven yourself a capable warrior in the past; don't make me regret trusting you with this."

Kalo was nodding and "Aye-aye"ing before Tharn was finished, running out the door toward adventure. Imogen grimaced and yelled after him. "At least wait until he tells you where it is!"

Tharn placed a hand on Imogen's shoulder, instantly shutting the girl up. "I have another task for you. I detected a series of power surges that I want you to investigate."

It took Imogen a moment or two to respond. "Power surges? Like what?"

Tharn removed his hand, placing it behind him, a stance Imogen was familiar with. For whatever reason, it helped her relax. "I was formulating a spell to track the Dragons when I noticed several surges of arcane energy not far from here. They reminded me of an old acquaintance. Has a way with portals. If it is him, I want you to secure his help against the Dragons."

"You have acquaintances?" The questioned escaped her lips before she could stop it. 

He scoffed. "Who wouldn't want to be acquainted with Abnur Tharn? But perhaps 'acquaintance' is too strong a word. They remind me of Sir Cadwell, who somehow opens portals with a power of similar intensity of those surges."

"Sir Cad...wait, is, that's not the man with the kettle on his head, is he?" She had only met the man briefly when she followed Kalo into Coldharbour, a trip she was desperately trying to forget. While her brother seemed delighted by the Soul Shriven, Imogen found him to be unhinged and violent.

"Indeed. If Cadwell turns out to be the source of the power surges, learn what he's doing out there and ask if he will aid us against the Dragons. For all his eccentricities, he has talents we can utilize."

Stifling a sigh, Imogen nodded. "As you wish, Chancellor. I shall check out those sites and see if this...Cadwell will join us."

Despite agreeing to the task, Imogen lingered. Tharn cocked a brow. "You have questions. Ask them, but do try to be quick."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she could speak. She knew under normal circumstances he would have chided her, told her to keep her mouth closed until she was ready to speak, lest she wants to appear a fool. But he waited for her to speak. "What...where did you go? After...after the...the thing in Coldharbour…"

Once she was done, he nodded. "I’ve been around. Someone needed to check on Cyrodiil and try to hold the pieces together. With the central government disbanded and the Imperial City a smoking ruin, any semblance of order has gone the way of the Dwemer," he sighed. "The people deserve better."

This time it was her turn to nod. A lump was starting to form in her throat. "H-how long, do you think, until we...until Cyrodiil is…"

Tharn shook his head, not letting the girl finish. "There is still much to do. Until I can find a way to end this blasted war, Cyrodiil will remain a battlefield. Unfortunately, we cannot focus on that at the moment. For now, do as I have asked. When you're done, meet us at the camp. You'll see the banners marking the way."

Again, Imogen nodded, and after a moment added a bow before making her leave. Once outside, she conjured her shadow horse, mounted, and made her way out of the town. 

The situation was still so surreal to her. Not the dragons. She could stretch her imagination far enough to entertain the idea of dragons. No, she was still confounded by the idea that her chest still felt tight, that her stomach was in knots. That despite her best efforts during the last 10 years, she still was infatuated with the High Chancellor. She had convinced herself it was nothing more than a silly schoolgirl's crush. An insipid byproduct by the man's kindness. 

Yes, despite popular opinion, Imogen found Tharn to be one of the nicest men she had met. During her limited role with The Companions, she had said as much to an enraged Lyris, who has scoffed at her in disbelief. Imogen never liked to be doubted, so she told Lyris a story to elaborate. 

When Imogen was finally an adult, she was allowed to attend court. Her brother detests the idea of having the sit around and listen to a bunch of noble snobs debate and set laws, but Imogen had wanted to be involved for quite some time. She could never make it as a politician; she was much too sensitive for such a lifestyle of constant aggression. But she was young and wanted to make a difference in her world, no matter how small. An optimist. 

For months, Imogen saw with her father, watching the proceedings. Most of the time, the council would speak on matters and decide outcomes, but at the end of each session, they would open the floor to the "common" folk to present an issue. Sometimes, no issue would come forth, and sometimes a few disputes would arise. Imogen was always fascinated by how the proceedings would go. And after months of attending, whenever the floor was open to the public, Imogen's heart would freeze and she would squirm in her seat. Her hands would grip her paper tightly, the proposal she had written and told herself she should present.

But she could never find the courage to do so. 

Her father seemed blind to her distress. Indeed, he hardly paid her any mind. He was much more interested in strengthening his position. Being the brother of count did that to one. It was just as well he didn't notice; despite her desire to change the world, she was dreadfully shy. Painfully so. While she sat in court, she would sink in the seats. When her father would linger to speak with some of the other noble families, she'd tuck herself behind him, arms crossed, head down. She wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. She wanted no one to know she existed, which was odd, given her desire to speak out.

After a few weeks of distressing anxiety, Imogen realized she'd never dared to speak up. Once the court was adjourned, she crumbled her sheet up and left it behind. She would just stick to her studies. Scholars could make changes, too, after all. 

The next session, as her father spoke with someone before the proceedings, a voice pulled her from the depths of her thoughts. 

"Lady Fidele, a moment, if you will."

Just like when she was in court, she felt her body seize. Her father glared daggers at her that screams what did you do to get in trouble with the Chancellor?! She shot her father a frantic look that whispered I don't know!

She followed Tharn just enough steps so they were out of earshot. She watched his feet so she knew when to stop, lest she run into the man. As he turned to face her, he held something out. "This is yours, I presume." It wasn't a question, but he still expected an answer. Just a glance told Imogen that it was, indeed, her crumbled proposal. 

She nodded. 

"Can't hear you. Do speak up. And don't even think of answering me with your head down. Roll your shoulders back and look at me. If you can't look at my face, at least make a pretense and look at my ears."

Her face felt like it was burning. In fact, so did her whole body. A cold sweat surged through her, the same sensation that struck her anytime she tried to find her courage. She started with the shoulders, straightening them back. Her mother always teased her for the same thing. Once her back was straightened, it was a lot easier for her to lift her head. Still, she did not look up at him, at least not right away. Instead, she brought her eyes up from the floor to at least his shoulders. She had noticed for the last few months he had been dressed in black. She recalled that earlier in the year his latest wife had died, and though it had been quite a few months, it was a tradition for families in high esteem to show mourning for their immediate family for at least a year. Now that she thought of it, she never recalled once seeing the man ever show a sign of loss. She had to wonder if he even cared or if he was just that good at hiding it.

Finally, she found her courage and followed his advice, looking towards the sides of his face rather than directly at him." Yes sir," she stuttered, "That is mine."

She expected a lecture. Maybe a scolding for leaving her trash in the court. But instead, he said, "I look forward to hearing your proposal today."

It was certainly not the response she was expecting. "I, oh, uh, n-no, I don't think…"

"Good," he interrupted. "Don't think. Just speak." And with that he made his leave, handing the paper over to her. 

Dumbfounded, Imogen stood there. There was no way she could stand before the court and make her silly proposal. Impossible! And yet she now couldn't not do it, not unless she wanted to feel the wrath of Tharn. 

What was worse, humiliation or death?

Imogen didn't listen to a word that was said during the proceedings. Instead, she listened to her blood rushing through her ears. To her heart pounding. To the voice inside insisting you can't do it until those fateful words rang out:

"The floor is now open for discussion."

A rustle went through the crowd. Imogen's eyes darted around the room. Maybe someone else would take a turn. That would save her. She would have an excuse to not speak. But luck was not on her side. A cough. A sigh. The signs of impatience. No one wanted to speak. Especially Imogen. 

So she was surprised when she heard the Chancellor say, "Yes, Lady Fidele, you have something for us?"

At first, she thought he had volunteered for her out of spite. So she was surprised when she realized she had been on her feet. For the second time that day, her father glowered at her, wondering how his daughter was going to make a fool of him. But she paid it no mind. She had stood up. She had been called upon. To sit back down again was to admit defeat. 

Her father stood up to let her by, not wanting to cause more of a scene, but as he did, he hissed in her ear. She, of course, didn't catch it. She was too focused on remembering how to walk as she approached the council. They sat at a long table elevated ever so slightly from the rest of the room, just enough to remind everyone that they were in charge. Directly in the middle stood the Chancellor. She always found it odd that he stood while the others sat. Behind him was the throne, elevated even more than the table. Somedays the Emperor sat there, but most days it was empty. She was at least lucky enough that today was one of those days. 

She first glanced down at her paper, but she suddenly couldn't remember how to read. It all looked so foreign to her. Daring to look up, she saw the eyes of the council just waiting for her. The silence of the room was deafening. She could hear every creak of a chair, every sniffle, and sigh. No one was speaking. 

So her own voice tried to fill the void. 

"I…" it started shaky, almost inaudible, but it pressed on. "I spend most of my time on my studies, and mostly study out of doors when, when the weather holds up as it has been…"

Her voice was going from memory, trying to remember every word she had written. Her eyes were glazed over, staring toward the council but not seeing a soul.

"Often, I find myself in the Arboretum. It's, it's peaceful there. Quiet. Most people who stop by do so in...quiet meditation. Spending...so much time there, I...couldn't help but notice the, the state of the Divines. Their statues. I...I've walked among them. Read their plaques. Most of them were made in the 1st Era.

"And they're beautiful!" Imogen quickly added. For some reason, she didn't want them to assume she thought them distasteful. "But stone doesn't last forever. Many of them are, are marred and chipped. The sun has bleached them. The intricate details wearing away. Poor Akatosh only has 3 fingers. Though," here, her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "Though I admit that, that I had broken one of those fingers. When I was little!"

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. Her uncle, who sat on the council, snorted. 

"If a little girl could break Akatosh, we're doomed."

The court erupted in laughter. Imogen's face turned even redder. 

Once the crowd quieted down, Imogen pressed on. "It's, it's a shame to let the Divines fall to ruin. I...I propose we restore the statues to their former glory. We owe them that much."

Her speech done, Imogen was enveloped in silence again until Tharn spoke.

"Does the council have anything to add?"

Some shook their heads. The others stayed quiet. 

Tharn nodded. "Then we shall proceed. All in favor to add the restoration of the statues of the Divines to the docket, say aye."

"Aye," came the response. 

"All opposed?"

The silence returned. It took Imogen a moment to realize that this silence was good. 

"The council has spoken. Thank you, Lady Fidele. You may be seated."

She hardly believed what she heard. Still, she quickly bowed to the council before returning to her seat. She didn't listen to a word that was said after. Her mind was chanting you did it.

When court was dismissed and the nobles lingered in the lobby, her father studied her. He appeared to want to say something, but he never did. Instead, Imogen heard the familiar voice address her.

"Lady Fidele, if I may?"

This time, her father's eyes told her not to keep the Chancellor waiting. Yet again, she followed him. 

"Congratulations, your proposal went through. It could have gone smoother; your voice quivered too much and you looked like a man awaiting execution. But you got your point across in the end, I suppose."

She had, instinctively, looked down at her feet when he had first addressed her, but as he spoke, she reminded herself to look back up. "Th-thank you, Chancellor. I…" she trailed off, unsure of what she wanted to say. 

"I'm interested in what you'll bring to the court next," Tharn continued. "Your mother used to make the most interesting of propositions."

She wanted to ask him what he meant, but she had a feeling that it wasn't the time for it. Instead, she found herself making an odd request. "Chancellor...could you…if it is alright with you, I'd rather you call me Lady Imogen. I...my mother was always Lady Fidele. I know it was years ago, but…"

Tharn studied her for a moment before nodding. "Very well. Now, I believe I've terrified you enough for one day, and I have other business to attend."

Despite her mind spinning, she knew that was her cue to leave. She bowed and made her way over to her father. 

The story wasn't much, Imogen realized, and Lyris didn't see it the way she did. To the Nord, it was just Tharn strutting his authority over others. But to Imogen, it was the first time since her mother died that someone made her feel she was worth listening to. There were plenty of other examples Imogen could have given. Whenever at court or some other social event, she always sought him out. She knew she couldn’t eat up all his time, but more often than not, he made time to attend her. He sometimes advised her on what to study or what to work on next for improvement. He made her feel somewhat safer among the other nobles. Eventually, she even felt safe enough to mention her curiosity about Necromancy. Tharn didn’t tease her. Didn’t rebuke her or try to sway her. Instead, he lent her books he had on the subject, on the condition she didn’t try to bring back her deceased mother. 

She could have told Lyris any of those stories, but she didn’t think it would have mattered. The Nord’s face made it clear that Imogen was along in her opinion. 

The sound of metal against rock jarred her from her thoughts. She had always hated that sound. Just as Tharn had predicted, the strange, little man with the teapot on his head was digging in the dirt before her. Sighing, Imogen dismounted her steed, straightening her tunic as she did so. “Sir Cadwell?” 

"Ah, hello there! Good to see you again, old chum.” He didn’t even turn to look at her. “Have you come to pay your respects as well?” 

With a polite smile, she approached him the digging site, keeping a good distance from the Soul Shriven. “To what?” 

“It was the strangest thing,” the strange man continued. “I dreamt I was looking at this very gravestone. So here I came and there it is, all solid and everything.” 

The reply certainly didn’t answer her question. “Do you know who is buried here?”

Cadwell stopped digging for a moment, pressing the spade into the dirt. “You know, I’m not really sure. But they must be important. Must be! I saw it in a dream, after all. Or was it a vision? I often get those two confused.” 

Gritting her teeth, Imogen nodded. “I can imagine. Well, Abnur Tharn sent me out here to check some...surges of power he had detected.”

“Tharn, you say? The grumpy Battlemage?”

“The one and only.”

“How is the old boy?”

“Fantastic.”

“The surges were probably just me. My portal took a few tries before we honed in on this exact location. Now, why don't you take a look at the gravestone and see what you make of it, hmm?”

Crossing her arms, Imogen shook her head. “I really don’t have time for this. I need to get back to my brother before he does something reckless. For whatever reason, Chancellor Tharn thinks you’d make a good addition to the cause. Will you help him?” 

Cadwell picked up his shovel and started to dig yet again. “Oh, yes, yes, of course, of course, I’ll help. I’ll catch up in a moment.” 

That was a good enough answer for Imogen. She just wanted to be done with this inane task. Once again, she mounted her steed and took off for the camp. As Tharn had said, banners were announcing the settlement. Imogen always found it odd that militia would mark their camps in such a fashion. Wouldn’t it give away their location to the enemy? She had followed her brother to some of the Covenant camps and wondered how they were never ambushed by the enemy. Then again, war wasn’t her forte. Perhaps there was some unspoken rule about attacking an enemy’s camp. 

Whether there was one or not, it didn’t seem to be the case here. As she followed the banners, the scent of soot filled her lungs. She could see the columns of smoke over the rocks. She goaded her horse to move faster. 

“Kalo!” she called out, jumping off the horse as she approached the burning camp. The smell was horrendous. Burning flesh and hair. As her horse dissipated, a shadow fell over them all. 

“The dragon returns!” she heard someone called out. “Take cover!”

“Get down! I’ll deal with this!” 

Imogen could hardly register what was happening. In one second, she saw a monstrous beast looming over them, teeth bared. The next second, a bright light struck the beast and drove it away. Once the beast was well away, the camp jumped back to action, a cacophony of cries and commands, the clinking of metal in the distance. 

“Oh, now you show up,” she heard Tharn say. She hadn’t realized he was right next to her. “Left me to deal with a dragon all by myself. It’s a good thing I’m Abnur Tharn and not, well, some lesser mage.” 

Despite the bravado of his words, Imogen furrowed her brow. Something in his voice seemed off. “Are you alright?” She asked. “You seem…”

“If you haven’t noticed,” he interrupted, leaning on his staff. “We have a bit of a situation here. We arrived to find the outpost being overrun by undead, then the Dragon attacked. I did what I could. I fear it wasn't enough.” 

Hesitantly, she placed a hand on his arm. “You did what you could.” 

It wasn’t until Tharn’s face hardened that Imogen realized what she had said. She opened her mouth to explain, but he shook his head. “The power surges. Did you learn anything?” 

“I...yes, you were, you were correct. It was your Sir Cadwell. And he agreed to help.” She couldn't help but frown. “Though I don’t know if that means anything. Seemed more preoccupied with the dirt than the dragons.”

The sounds of fighting faded. The Khajiiti seemed to have the situation under control, though Imogen couldn’t help but notice the fallen. She would never get used to so much death and destruction. 

“I found them!” a youthful voice called out. Imogen snapped to attention as Kalo came bounding up the trail, sword in hand, covered in dirt, blood, and other sorts of refuge. She grimaced, but the boy seemed unharmed. “I found the documents Khamira wanted! And I killed those stupid necromancers.” 

“Kalo, please have some tact,” Imogen began to say, but Tharn’s voice overpowered her. 

“And what of the commander, Nala-do?” 

The boy shrugged. “I gave her the documents and she went back to Riverhold.” 

“Then I should join them there,” Tharn replied, pushing himself with the staff. “The Khajiiti forces have been decimated by this attack. It will take every strategy I can devise to help Gharesh-ri prevent the collapse of his militia.” He grunted. “The appearance of so many undead, though. That concerns me. Zumog Phoom and his necromancers, working for my despicable half-sister. Such magic leaves behind a miasma of stench and decay. It leads to the mountains to the west, but I can't pinpoint an exact location."

Again, Imogen noted the tone in his voice. With a whistle, she conjured her mare once again. “Leave that to me. I’ll investigate the source of the magic. Kalo, you go with the Chancellor back to, to Riverhold.” 

Kalo opened his mouth to protest, but his sister gave him that look. He scowled. “Yes, mom.”

She flinched but shook it off, leading her horse away. 

A silence lapsed as Kalo watched his sister leave. Tharn nudged him with his staff. “Come along. You really ought to mind your sister. You might be the warrior in your family, but she’s much smarter.”

Sheathing his sword, Kalo begrudgingly followed. “Does she not remember that I punched Molag Bal in the face?” 

“And do you not remember that you were heavily aided by divine influence?” Tharn countered. “Do well to remember that, lest you get yourself killed. Which is precisely what your sister is trying to keep you from doing.”

Finally, Kalo’s expression softened. “I know, I know. If something happened to me, she’d kill herself.” He glanced up at Tharn. “And I’m not exaggerating. She wrote that in her journal.” 

“Reading your sister’s journal?” Tharn clicked his tongue. “Some of my daughters used to read each other's journals. The fights that would ensue were otherworldly.”

“Oh please, it’s not like she’ll ever find out.” Kalo paused before casting a mischievous smile toward the old man. “Besides, don’t you want to know what she’s written about you?”

This time, Tharn paused, but just for a moment. He glanced back at the boy and cocked a brow.


	2. This kind of Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while I should have been sleeping because I had to wake up at 4 am to get on a plane wheeeeeee 
> 
> Some trigger warnings of hints of alcoholism and very subtle hints of noncon maybe? (Drunken one night stands).
> 
> I'm going for a post modernist approach in which entries may be written out of order. aka I read inspired to write this one that takes place after another event I plan to write.

The Khajiiti tavern was much different that what she had experienced in Glenumbra. It was somewhat more subdued. Sure, there was music playing, but it felt more like a lullaby. It was rather soothing to listen to the strings being plucked. Incense filled the air, lining the room with unseen censers. Even the patrons themselves were mellowed. There were some who were energetically speaking with one another, but most were like her, just sitting back, enjoying their drinks. 

It wasn’t quite the atmosphere she was looking for.

Whenever Imogen visited a tavern, her goal was normally to get so drunk, she could be free. Her own self held her back; alcohol shut her brain off and let her speak uninhibited. She would transform from a wallflower to a everesent social butterfly, with a smile that could light up a room, though normally only the shadiest of vermin would attend her. One than once, she has woken up in a stranger’s bed, which she knew as the only way she could find someone to love her. 

But the Sugar Bowl didn’t seem like the type of establishment for such adventures. Besides, she wasn’t sure if she could ever be drunk enough to sleep with a Khajiit. Maybe it was her Imperial upbringing, but she had trouble thinking of them in that way. 

With a sigh, she downed the rest of her drink- she wasn’t even sure what it was, it was the house special- and placed her money on the countertop before gliding to the door. Another thing she hated about this tavern: it was located on an upper level. Who thought of putting stairs outside a tavern? Imogen gripped the railing as she descended the staircase, trying not to bump into those who were making their way up. 

She was her least favorite kind of drunk, the kind where she was still conscious. What was the point of drinking if she was cognizant of her surroundings? Like a dejected zombie, she walked the streets of Rimmen. She didn’t stumble or stagger, but anyone who saw her would know she was either drunk or delirious. Whenever she was near a wall or a fence, she would put her hand out to steady herself. The moons were bright, lighting the roads, but she didn’t need them to see. She wasn’t going anywhere. She was just letting her feet guide her.

As her fingers rapped along the rails of a patio, she heard a voice call. “Good gods, you’re not going to pass out, are you?”

She wrapped her hand along one of the rails, anchoring herself in her tracks as she looked at the speaker. She recognized him, but her brain was being slow to update her. 

“Hm?” she replied. “What, me?”

The man rolled his eyes. “No, the other sodden Imperial walking the streets.” 

Confused, she looked up and down the road she was traveling. At this time of night, she only saw a few guards. Then she remembered what sarcasm was, and her brain finally caught her up to speed. 

“What are you doing out here, Chanc’ler?” she asked, trying to focus on him and not appear absolutely sloshed.

Tharn held a goblet up to her. “The same as you, it appears.” He tipped it back, taking a sip before making a face. “Wine used to rejuvenate me after periods of intense exertion and spell-casting. Now I can barely taste the stuff. A good thing, too. Khajiiti wine is cloyingly sweet. Like drinking candied plums boiled in moon-sugar.”

Imogen tilted her head, which she regretted so after since the world started to spin. She ignored it. “I like sweet.” 

“Then you’re welcome to join me,” he snorted, “If anything more than to get you to sit down and stop swaying like a seasick cabin boy. Just watching you is making me feel nauseous.” 

Using the railing, Imogen stepped onto the patio and made her way to the seat next to Tharn, almost missing it as she sat down. Tharn said nothing about it. Instead he held out his cup to her. She studied it as if it were an indecipherable rune. 

“I only have the one,” he explained. 

Nodding-again a mistake as it felt like water was sloshing around her head- she took the cup. The contents smelled sickeningly sweet, but she sipped it nonetheless. Tharn’s description was accurate, but at any rate, she liked it. Enough to down the rest of the glass. Tharn raised a brow but didn’t complain. He simply took the cup back from her and poured more from the crystal bottle. Despite his complaints, he took a sip of the fresh cup.

A minute or two must have passed between them before Imogen spoke. “Kalo wants to help Khamira at some, some moon gate.”

Tharn handed the goblet to her. “The Moon Gate?” he echoed before shaking his head. “A noble but futile proposition, I fear. The Khajiit should pack up and flee while they still can.” As Imogen took a rather long swig, Tharn sneered. “Let the alliance armies deal with this. Show them some fights are more important than deciding whose posterior best fits the Ruby Throne."

This wasn’t the kind of conversation she wanted to have. Her mood was sour already from her lack of inebriated high; hearing what sounded like defeat in the voice of the man she admired so much made her mood plummet. She held up the cup like an offering to appease an angry god, but Tharn held up his hand and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other hand. Dejected, Imogen stared into the cup. 

“If you’ve given up,” she whispered, “Then there really is no hope.”

A deep sigh rumbled out of the old Battlemage. “No one said I was giving up, Imogen. I’m just...just pondering our options.”

He leaned back in his chair, reclining his head as if to soak up the moonlight. “Too much of what we're facing was the inadvertent result of my actions or the actions of my family. Dragons, Euraxians, necromancers. The responsibility falls to me, and balance must be restored."

Imogen studied him. She had never seen the man look so...exhausted. “You...you can’t take all the blame, Abnur.”

His brow furrowed and his glanced at her from the side of his eyes, but said nothing. Imogen continued. “This...I mean….this is, is so much bigger than you. Bigger than any of us. To, to take the blame for something like this is...well, I don’t know.” She really, really hated being this kind of drunk. “Listen, take it...take it from me. I spent the first five or so years after my mother’s...y’know, after she…that I did something unspeakably wrong that made it all happen. I started to, to blame myself for almost anything that went wrong. Kalo got sick the year after. I swore it had to be my fault. It was me that did it. I was a curse and a burden on my family.

“Then, one day…” she sighed. “I don’t know. I realized how...incredibly selfish it was of me to think like that. To think I hold that sort of power in the universe. As if I could control the fate of others. I realized I…I’m not strong enough to kink the chains of fate.” 

There was a beat as Imogen watched the man take in all she had to say.

“...are you saying that I can’t be to blame for the calamity that has befallen this place,” he started, cocking a brow. “Because that would too braggadocious?”

It took Imogen a moment to register his words. “N-no!” she stuttered, shooting up from her seat, her third mistake of the evening. The movement was too fast for her addled brain. The contents of the cup sloshed over her hands, and her legs knocked against the small table between them, almost spilling the bottle. She was starting to lose her balance. Tharn stood up to steady her, but she didn’t even notice. “No, that’s not what, that’s not what I meant at all. I can’t...words are hard.”

She started to take another gulp of wine, but mid sip Tharn took the cup out of her hands. He placed it on the table, leaving one hand on her shoulder to keep her from falling over. “Yes, words are hard indeed,” he said, shaking his head. “But I understand the sediment. You’re saying I’m not solely to blame for this disaster. Touching, but not necessary.”

“It’s not your fault,” Imogen whispered, almost like a plea. “I want to hear you say it.”

He rolled his eyes. “And I want the dragons gone and Cyrodiil to return to its former glory, but we don’t get things because we want them. Now, I suggest you sleep off this...stupor you’ve put yourself into. If Khamira wants your brother at the Moon Gate, I very much doubt you’ll let him go without you, and you can’t expect to be any help to him or me if you’re hungover.”

Since she seemed stable enough, Tharn pulled his hand away and sat back down, watching her. It was her turn to furrow her brows. 

“Are you saying you’re still going to help us?”

He sighed. “Again, I never said I wasn’t. And besides, would any of you stand a chance otherwise? Without my arcane and strategic insights, anything you try is destined to fail. I won't have that on my conscience.”

Perhaps it was because she was drunk, but a part of her wanted to believe he was saying he’d never forgive himself if something were to happen to her. It lifted her mood, if just a little. “Abnur…”

“You did it again.”

She blinked. “Hm?”

Cocking his head, he narrowed his eyes at her. “Who am I, Imogen?”

Another beat. Imogen was much too drunk for pop quizzes. “You’re...oh! You’re Abnur Tharn, Grand Chancellor and….and Overlord of Nib-Nibenay, Imperial Battlemage of the Elder Council...or something of the sort.” She wagged her finger in the air after each title, as if she were trying to keep track.

Slowly, he nodded, wondering if she caught up yet. When it was clear she hadn’t, he pressed on. “And what did you just call me, hm? Because it certainly didn’t sound like any of my titles.” 

Her face fell. Quickly, she started silently sputtering some sort of explanation. “I, uh, oh...but I...it just seemed…”

Tharn didn’t say a word, didn’t move a muscle. He watched the girl squirm. 

“It just felt more appropriate,” she managed to say. “More intimate.”

“Intimate?”

If her face wasn’t red from the wine, it was certainly red now. “Not like...not like people are, are intimate. It has, it has other meanings too. Like when people...I was trying to…”

“Seems appropriate, I suppose,” Tharn interrupted, picking up the forgotten cup of wine. He watched her as he brought it to his lips. “After all, we did share a glass. Some might say that’s almost as intimate as a kiss.” 

Oh, if the ground could just swallow her whole! Did he really have to say that? Unable to bear it, Imogen hid her face behind her hands. She heard him place the cup back down and stand up. At this point, she wasn’t sure if he was going to hit her or just leave. 

“Don’t worry,” Imogen almost yelped as the voice vibrated in her ears. She hadn’t even heard him move. “Believe it or not, I’m not the type to kiss and tell.” 

For some reason, that sparked a little flame of courage in Imogen as she slowly lowered her hands, uncovering her eyes but still covering her mouth. Tharn pulled away from her ear and patted her shoulder, a small smirk on his lips. 

“Get some sleep and sober up,” he said before pulling away. “i assume we’ll be leaving for the Moon Gate as soon as the sun rises, whether you’re hungover or not.”

As she stood there, watching him saunter off, she replayed the scene in her head. Between this and when she was his valet, her mind was racing. 

Perhaps this kind of drunk wasn't too bad


	3. Jealous

"I still feel that this idea is going to come back to bite us."

From his pillowed corner of the makeshift war room, Kalo glanced over to where Khamira and Gharesh-ri were plotting. The former had been packing anxiously since Tharn had departed. The older Khajiit studied the map. 

"I agree. But it is already done," Gharesh-ri sighed. "Besides, Abnur Tharn had a point. This will give us the chance we need to regroup."

With his chin in his hands, Kalo huffed. "Still think I should have gone instead of Imogen…."

If one had asked if Kalo was bitter his sister was getting more involved in this adventure than he was, Kalo would have said no. Of course not. Heroes don't get bitter. They get heroic! They help people in need and save the day!

So why was he just sitting around?

Khamira watched as the boy rolled onto his side with an exasperated sigh. "Believe me, Five-Claw, I am just as anxious as you to fight. But Tharn insisted we give this plan of his a try." The Khajit crossed her arms, sneering. "That has me nervous. For all we know, he is conspiring with Euraxia as we speak."

Kalo's initial response was to roll along the floor. "Nah, Tharn wouldn't do that."

Throwing her hands up, Khamira huffed. "You and your sister both, why do you two defend him? Have you forgotten what conspired in the Hall of Colossus? Or do you blindly follow the man because he gave you the dragons to fight?"

The boy rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his feet. His face grew hard, but he tried to hide it. "So what if I am excited about the dragons? It just means I'll be killing them all for you guys."

This time, Gharesh-ri sighed. "You really think you can best a team of dragons?"

Kalo nodded. "Of course!"

A small purr rolled from Khamira. "I enjoy your optimism. I, too, want to take my blade to those beasts. But they are not to be trifled with. One took out my soldiers in just one blast."

"The trick is to not even give them the chance to fight," Kalo explained, shifting from foot to foot. "Which is why I'm mad Imogen went with Tharn and not me. If I had gone, I'd have stabbed her right in the face as soon as she had her guard down." 

Gharesh-ri smiled, but it made Kalo scowl. It was one of those smiles that made Kalo feel like a mere child. One you give a little kid when they say something endearing. "There are a few flaws in your plan."

"Firstly," Khamira interrupted. "I doubt Tharn would want the role of his bodyguard to be played by a child."

"And secondly," Gharesh-ri continued. "You would be on her terf. Hundreds of guards surrounding her, and that necromancer by her side. As you said, they wouldn't give you the chance to attack."

That was enough. Kalo kicked at one of the table legs. "It's better than talking! Tharn even said it wasn't going to work, so why even bother?"

The older Khajiit shook his head. "Not all moves in war lead to victory. Sometimes you need to take a step back to proceed."

"This isn't a game of chess!" Kalo shouted. "Taking a step back is just giving Euraxia more room to push forward. We need to do the pushing."

"We don't have manpower for that-" Gharesh-ri started. 

"You have me!" Kalo countered. 

"Enough," Gharesh-ri said, holding up his hands. "What is done is done. I am going to gather our forces. When Abnur Tharn returns, then we will plan our attack."

Like a tired parent, Gharesh-ri rubbed his head and took off. Khamira's eyes followed him and lingered on the door a few moments after I closed. As she turned her gaze toward Kalo, she saw the boy pout as he plopped back down onto the pillows. 

She sauntered up to him and crouched down. "You really do believe you can take on the dragons alone, don't you Five-Claw?"

Sitting cross-legged, Kalo returned to his earlier position, resting his elbows on his thighs and his chin in his hands. "Of course I do," he replies, but his voice did not carry the confident, carefree tone it did earlier. He sounded more subdued, more sincere. 

"I have to," he continued. "It's...that's what I do. I beat the bad guys and help those in need. I know ...I know Imogen thinks I don't take things seriously, that I think that this is all just a game. You probably think that too. But I do understand how serious this all is." He paused, looking past Khamira. "But if I take it too seriously, I get...I don't know. I just don't like thinking about it that way."

As if he was passing out sagacious advice, Khamira nodded solemnly. "I understand. You like to look forward instead of look back. Sometimes it is best to not look back. Spend too much time dwelling on the past and you end up stuck there. 

"But never looking back can be dangerous too. We have to remember where we came from, those who have given their lives for us to be here."

When the boy didn't respond, Khamira placed a hand on his head. He still did not respond. He appears to be in deep thought. With a little nod, she quickly patted his head and stood up.

"Perhaps you can assist me with a task," she said. "I need someone to help me spar, someone I know won't hold back."

For a moment, he still didn't respond. But a small smile soon formed. 


	4. Dragons and Necromancers and Tharns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my!   
IDK I'm bad at titles.   
Shout out to UESP.net, for without I am a lowly worm. 
> 
> also this is 15 pages whoops!

It felt rather silly. The world was plunged in warfare. The skies were inundated with Dragons. Families were separated. Soldiers dying. 

And Imogen was deciding what makeup to wear. 

Sighing, she angled the small mirror to her eyes. She couldn't help but notice how dark her lower lids were getting. How her dry her skin was. And she was sure she had gotten a few new freckles thanks to the Elsweyr sun. Indeed, her complexion was darker than it had been in a while, some parts even pink and red. She frowned. Her mother always had rather fair skin. She noticed it on Kalo as well, except for lately as he spent more and more time outdoors. Imogen inherited her father's tanner skin. The different shades of Imperials were impressive to her. But perhaps the other races had just as big a spectrum and she was too blind to realize it. 

As she picked up the eyeliner, she tried to duck further into the shady alcove she had tucked herself in. A few Khajiits, and a handful of Imperials, and a smattering of Altmer were enjoying the quiet of the little garden area. Imogen tried her best to not exist in their eyes, sitting on the ground behind an unused bench. 

When they had fled Cyrodiil, Imogen had no time to pack. She and Kalo had been, luckily, away from their home in the Imperial City. Their father had sent them on some errand or other- Imogen could scarcely recall the details now- and they were traveling to Leyawiin when the anchors appeared. When one opened in the sky just ahead of them, Imogen didn't have a clue what it was. She didn't bother to wait and see. She grabbed ahold of her younger brother's arm and took off, leading him off the path, ignoring any of his protests. There was dark magic about, strong enough that she could sense it without trying. Her thoughts were on her brother and herself. To get to safety.

She was deaf to any screams she might have heard. 

They first fled to Anvil, but even there, Imogen did not feel safe. With what money she had, she bought passage on the first ship she found. It just so happened to be sailing to Daggerfall. Then Kalo took that job from that hooded stranger…

Shaking out of the memory, Imogen examined her work in the mirror. She hated how she looked in black eyeliner; it was too dark, too noticeable. She preferred more neutral colors. But it was the first set she found at the market in Rimmen, so she took it without thought. As she began applying the eyeshadow- a gaudy purple she’d have to live with- she thought back to the conversation that led her to this makeshift makeover. 

She promised Tharn that she would follow the source of the necromantic magic he had sensed, so she did, to a cave that Khamira and some other Khajiits were about to explore as well. A lucky break for Imogen; she wouldn’t have to fight alone. Fighting certainly wasn’t her forte. But she understood the basics of Necromancy enough to counter some basic spells and essentially fight fire with fire. Khamira and her crew handled the rest. 

Then came the dragon.   
And while it was breathtaking to behold, it was an experience she never wanted to have again. The scent of burnt flesh still assaulted her senses. 

She had returned to Tharn with troubling news. As he finished up his conversation with Gharesh-ri, he spared her a glance. 

“Ah, there you are,” he said, gesturing for her to join them by the map. “Gharesh-ri and I were just plotting our next move. Or trying to at least. At this point, we need to come up with a plan that takes into account Euraxians, necromancers, and Dragons. I proposed a few options, but Gharesh-ri wasn't sold on any of them.” At the mention of his name, Imogen glanced over at the older cat, but he was in deep thought. Tharn shifted on his feet. “Tell me, what did you find?”

Imogen bit the inside of her cheek, trying to decide where to start. “Well, you were right. There were Necromancers in that area. Khamira and I took care of them, but...well, it sounds like Euraxia has an army of them…”

Tharn merely nodded. “You paint a troubling picture, my friend. Still, we need to celebrate every victory we achieve. I fear such triumphs will be few and far between. Have you anything else to report?”

Folding her arms across her chest, Imogen studied Tharn’s face. How could he be so calm during all this? The Dragons, the necromancers...he was calm even in Coldharbour! It was a skill she was most jealous of. She, meanwhile, was trying her best to not shake, to keep the quiver out of her voice. “I...well, we lost a few…” She paused, trying to regroup her thoughts. “...I spoke with one of the Dragons.”

“YOU SPOKE TO A DRAGON?!” came a shout from the corner of the room. Imogen hadn’t even noticed her little brother sitting there. His eyes glimmered with fantasy, but his voice carried the tell-tale signs of envy. 

Imogen nodded, biting her lip. “Yes, the one who attacked the camp. His name is Mulaamnir or something of the sort.” She looked at Tharn. “He wants you and me to leave Elsweyr. He...also called your sister a puppet.”

Though he snorted, Tharn’s face remained serious. “I’m honestly not that surprised. My half-sister likes to think that she's in charge, but I highly doubt she could control the Dragons for too long. She won't take kindly to being called a puppet.”

“I don’t think anyone would,” Imogen replied. 

“True,” Tharn agreed, shifting on his feet. “As for leaving Elsweyr, I think not. Obviously, this Mulaamnir fears us. Otherwise, the Dragon wouldn't have deigned to talk to you.”

Now it was Imogen’s turn to snort. “Fear me? Chancellor, no one fears me.”

Kalo put his hand up. “I fear you when you first wake up in the morning. You’re kind of a bitch when you’re sleepy-”

“KALO!” Imogen chided, her face turning red. By this point, Khamira, who had stayed behind to bury the dead, returned, slipping quietly into the room. Kalo eagerly waved to her. She merely nodded back to him. 

Tharn gave Imogen a wry smile. “What isn’t there to fear? From what I’ve seen, you’re a fairly accomplished necromancer for your age.”

Imogen winced. Gharesh-ri finally pulled his attention away from the map, his eyes snapping to Imogen. Khamira spoke before he could, though. 

“You’re one of them?” she accused, sidling up to the Imperial, eyes narrowing. 

“I…” Imogen shot Tharn a helpless look, but he only cocked a brow to her. “I’ve dabbled in it. But I’m...I’m nothing like those soldiers,” she insisted, turning her gaze to Khamira. She tried her best to bring her face back to neutral. “I do my best to respect the dead, the spirits and their bodies. There’s...there’s more to necromancy than just...resurrecting the dead.” 

Khamira continued to glare at Imogen, but Kalo interrupted their discussion. “Hey Tharn, have you talked to Cadwell yet? He was kind of freaking out about a grave he was digging up earlier.”

That got a reaction from Tharn. His face scrunched into a sneer. “Every conversation I have with Cadwell makes my head throb, but one mystery at a time, if you please.” With a sigh, he glanced around at the others in the room, the small, makeshift war council. “The biggest mystery is how we’re ever going to manage to overthrow my half-sister. With how things are now, well, we haven’t a chance. Her army outnumbers us overwhelmingly. And as long as she’s able to use the Dragons… if only I could get her to listen to reason and see that the Dragons are using her.”

A silence fell. Imogen studied Tharn’s face as he furrowed his brow and leaned back over the map. “...couldn’t we...try?” 

“Try what?” Tharn asked, still studying the map. 

Khamira watched Imogen carefully as the Imperial edged to the table. “Reasoning with her.”

“Reasoning with her?”  
“Are you serious?” Tharn and Khamira spoke simultaneously

Imogen shrugged. “Just...thinking aloud. But...well, as you said, Chancellor, she wouldn’t take kindly to being called a puppet. Perhaps...perhaps if she knew of the Dragons’ betrayal…”

Khamira started to argue. “You can’t seriously believe you could-”

“A parley?” Tharn interrupted, stroking his chin. He didn’t seem to be addressing anyone in particular. “I may not like her, but we are family. Besides, it would give the Khajiit time to regroup.” A smirk returned to his face as he glanced at Imogen from the corner of his eyes. “You're beginning to think like a Tharn, my friend.”

Before Imogen could react, Khamira threw up her hands and huffed. “Do you really think she will listen to reason?” 

“It might be worth a try,” Gharesh-ri spoke for the first time. “Besides, Abnur Tharn has a point. We need to grow our forces. This could be our only chance.”

Khamira hummed but said no more, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall. Meanwhile, Tharn moved to the table closer to Kalo, a makeshift desk of sorts. He grabbed a few papers and began to write.   
“I'll send word to Rimmen to expect us tomorrow,” he said, not even glancing from his work. “I imagine my half-sister will treat us as befits my station and agree to the meeting.”

Imogen flinched. “Tomorrow? Isn’t that...rather soon?”

“Not soon enough!” Kalo chimed. 

“I agree,” Tharn said, gesturing his head toward Kalo. “We need to move quickly before Euraxia orders another attack.”

“Yes, but,” Imogen bit her cheek again. “We don’t even have a plan yet.”

“You might not,” Tharn replied, placing his pen down and reading over his work. “It just so happens I already have one. It involves distracting my half-sister with wit, charm, and words she barely comprehends.” He paused as he rolled the scroll up, handing it to Kalo, who quickly jumped from his seat. Then, Tharn turned to Imogen. “Oh, and you. Euraxia never could resist a pretty face. You'll pretend to be my bodyguard and personal valet.”

There was a lot in that sentence that Imogen tried to digest. 

“Me?” she squeaked.   
“Her?” Kalo balked. 

“Yes,” Tharn answered to both. “It wouldn’t do to have Kalo play the part. And I very much doubt she’d even let us in the door if either Khamira or Gharesh-ri joined me.” Khamira hummed at him, but he ignored it. “Besides, this requires diplomacy, which I’m hoping you’re not too rusty with.”

Imogen crossed her arms even tighter. “I...well, if, if it’s to help bring about peace…” She suddenly furrowed her brows and bowed. “I shall prepare myself posthaste.” 

With that, Imogen found herself purchasing makeup and clothes in Rimmen, trying to remember what it was like to be a lady. 

Frowning, she examined herself in the mirror. Not quite the look she had been going for, but it would have to do. Tharn had told her to meet in the plaza by noon. Quickly, she ran her fingers through her long brown hair, breaking up any remaining tangles, before fixing her prized circlet her mother had gifted her. Getting up from her hiding place, she adjusted her silk dress. It was long but thin, which made her feel exposed. There was no time to dwell on it, though. She quickly made her way out of the garden and headed for the plaza. 

The hustle and bustle of the lively town square made Imogen’s chest swell. There was something about the rush of a city that put Imogen at ease. It seemed paradoxical that a girl so afraid of people felt at home surrounded by them. But in a city, Imogen felt invisible. Hardly anyone paid her any attention. Thousands of people busy living their own lives. They didn’t have time to spare her a glance. 

Tharn stuck out from the crowd in his gilded armor. Imogen tried her best to not admire him, but he hadn’t noticed her yet, so it was the perfect time to do so. He always seemed like he belonged, no matter the place. It was a stance he held, a presence. He could probably be in a room full of monkeys and still look like he was there with a purpose. She watched as his eyes shifted about, watching the people walk by him. She wondered how many knew just who he was. 

By the time she was just a few feet from him, his eyes fell on her. He stared at her for quite a bit, which made Imogen cross her arms. Finally, he nodded to her. 

“Good, you’ve arrived,” he greeted her. “And not a moment too soon. I expected sorrow and despair, but the situation here goes beyond even my prophetic inklings."

She blinked. “...pardon?”

He gestured to the plaza. “The city of Rimmen. Euraxia’s rule. It’s utterly abhorred.”

As if to appease him, Imogen followed his gesture, looking around, but her face gave her confusion away. “I’m not sure what...the city seems rather stable to me. Peaceful, even.”

“On the surface, yes,” Tharn nodded. “But peace through tyranny provides false harmony. Euraxia uses fear and threats of violence to keep the Khajiit in line, making them second-class citizens in their own province.” He scowled, casting a side glance toward the castle. “It appalls me to think Euraxia and I are related."

Imogen pursed her lips. “Chancellor, I’m not...forgive me, but from what I’ve seen...this city seems rather...functional. It’s safe and, well, pretty even. Like it hasn’t seen the dregs of war in some time.” She grew quiet under his gaze, but he motioned for her to continue her thought. “Is your sister’s rule really so bad?”

“You’ve a kind heart, Imogen,” Tharn murmured, but his face quickly hardened. “But you’re a bit too naive. Still, I understand where you’re coming from. I know your upbringing, the lessons you would have been taught by your tutors. We Imperials are taught at a very young age that we are at the center of the Empire. While it isn’t quite your fault, you need to open your eyes to the truth.”

“The truth?”

“Come,” he said, holding out his arm. “It would be better if I showed you. Follow me and I'll demonstrate the true depths of my half-sister's villainy. Her grip on Rimmen is far tighter than it appears."

Before she could really react, Tharn began to lead her around the city. As she followed, Imogen couldn’t help but feel like an absolute child. 

When she was younger, Imogen wanted nothing more than to get older. To her, being an adult meant being free, being able to do what she pleased. Her mother always called her an “Old Soul,” a child with the spirit of an adult. As if, when she was born, she was possessed by someone who had been around the world before. A reincarnation of sorts. 

But even as an adult, Imogen still felt like a child. A few years shy of thirty, and she still felt ignorant of the world around her. She had learned that being an adult does not magically make you equal to all other adults. That some would always look down upon her. 

It crushed her to think that Tharn might be one of them.

He stopped outside of a rather dirty building. “Here we are, our first stop: the workhouse. Have you ever visited a workhouse before, Imogen? It serves to snare the poor and the destitute…those who fall behind on their debts. They come here to find employment and earn a decent wage, but the costs deducted to pay for room and board leave them worse off than they were before.”

“But they do get paid,” Imogen countered. “Which accounts for something, yes? It provides jobs for the less fortunate.” She found herself using the same defense her father would use for hiring unskilled servants and paying them less than he would others. She frowned at the realization, but Tharn continued. 

“One of the first things Euraxia did after declaring herself queen was to institute tariffs and fines that apply only to Khajiiti citizens. No one else needs the workhouse. A cruel tactic, but effective.”

Imogen furrowed her brows. For some reason, she found herself still arguing with the logic. “But...surely if the Khajiit...they would have protested such a thing.”

Tharn’s brows shot up. “The Rimmen Khajiit? Please. Any complaints incur fines for causing a public disturbance or some other inane ordinance. No one wants to risk falling even further into debt. It's ingenious. Monstrous, but ingenious. She pays the Khajiiti, and the workhouse isn't technically a prison. On the surface, it appears to be a place that helps society's unfortunates. But underneath? It's slavery without any of the uncomfortable trappings”

Her head was spinning. “I…”

He didn’t let her continue. Taking hold of her arm, he dragged her away. “Now let’s visit the market.”

As she was dragged along, she couldn’t help but wonder why Tharn was so adamant about this lesson. She should have just agreed with him. Perhaps that was it. He didn’t like that she didn’t agree. 

In a flash, they were at the market. Stalls lined the streets. People of all races traveled from stall to stall over a wave of merchants singing praises of their goods. Memories of the Imperial marketplace began to form in Imogen’s head, but Tharn didn’t give her the chance to relive them.

“It may be hard to see,” he explained, gesturing to the stalls. “But the Khajiiti merchants struggle to keep their stalls open while the less-bestial businesspeople rake in the profits. Euraxia would have you believe it's a matter of work ethic, but we know better.” He turned to her, brow cocked. 

She noted the “we.” Tharn was giving her the chance to redeem herself. She wasn’t going to let it go to waste. Her eyes flashed from stall to stall. “The Khajiit are...somehow being treated unfairly.”

He nodded. “Unfairly doesn't begin to cover it. Khajiiti merchants must deal with high tariffs, extra inspection fees, costly licenses…”

Now, this Imogen understood. Her father was a financier. “Tariffs? But they’re not importing the goods, are they? Or exporting them? You can’t...you can’t tariff something sold in your own country…”

Again, he nodded. “Euraxia's squeezing them for every piece of gold imaginable. She even instituted a fur tax.”

“What?!” Imogen squawked, a little too loudly. While a few passerbyers glanced at her, she cast an incredulous look to Tharn. “But...that....what in the world is a fur tax?”

“On the surface, it seems reasonable to make Khajiiti pay for extra inspections to ensure their fur isn't getting into the products they sell. And while they do shed, it's just another way to discriminate against the rightful citizens of this land.”

Watching the hustle and bustle of the market, Imogen felt her stomach sink. Tharn reached out for her arm yet again. “Come along. I want to show you the improvements Euraxia made to the palace walls.”

As he began to lead her away, Imogen dug her feet in ever so slightly. “Chancellor, I, I get it now. I see how I was wrong and you were right.”

He shook his head and kept going. “You say that, but I don’t think you actually mean it. You don’t truly understand what I’m trying to show you. This isn’t about being right or wrong, Imogen. While it doesn’t happen often, I do not mind being wrong. I do not mind learning from my mistakes. You’ve studied history, yes? From whose perspective did you learn from?”

“I…”

“From Imperials. If you are to improve yourself, you need to step out of that perspective. Now,” here he stopped, and Imogen realized they were closer to the castle. He pointed toward a far tower. “See how the trebuchets sit upon the walls? When it comes right down to it, you're looking at the secret of my half-sister's success.”

Imogen grimaced. “To defend the city?” she offered, though she knew it was wrong. 

Tharn shook his head. “You have to remember that she took this city by force. How do you think Euraxia maintains order and keeps the Elsweyr Defense Force at bay? She declared publicly and has repeated often that any attempt to liberate Rimmen will see her unleash the full fury of the siege weapons upon the city.”

A lump began to form in Imogen’s throat. “...wh-what? But that’s...why would she…?”

Tharn looked at her solemnly. “If Euraxia can't have Rimmen, then neither can anyone else. She'd destroy the city in a heartbeat if she thought she was in danger of losing control. Of course, she tells her non-bestial subjects that only the Khajiiti districts are targeted.”

“But that’s a lie,” Imogen swallowed. “Isn’t it?”

“Absolutely! But the lie makes her supporters feel better. The Khajiit know that even a peaceful protest could result in the destruction of Rimmen. So far, no one has dared to challenge Euraxia's will in this matter—and for good reason.”

Staring at the Trebuchet, Imogen clutched at the fabric at her chest, toying with her. She had witnessed such tyrannical tactics of leaders towards enemy cities, but never from a leader to her own people. What could drive a person to such cruelty? 

And was she any better? She had blindly believed Euraxia could be a better ruler simply because, well, because she was Imperial. And she had ruled the city for 6 years. Surely if she were a bad ruler, the Emperor would have done something about it. Of course, now Imogen knows he was just as blind, seeking a fabled Amulet that would inevitably kill thousands of people.

Putting her head down, Imogen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I...I think it’s time we spoke with Euraxia herself.”

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Tharn nodded. “Indeed. Let’s not keep her in suspense.” 

They walked up the winding path to the palace door. Imogen noted the hoards of soldiers prowling about, no doubt on high alert due to the parley. She kept reminding herself that they were meeting in peace, but still she felt herself shaking. Tharn put more pressure on her shoulder as if to keep her still. 

“Let me do the talking,” he said in a low voice as they entered the main door. “As the elder Tharn, I'll demonstrate my dominance over Euraxia and negotiate a cessation of hostilities.”

The overwhelming confidence in his tone helped relax Imogen. It didn’t last long. Atop the stairs stood a strange man, an orc surrounded in a dark aura. The orc smirked at her as they passed.

“Ah, here come Queen Euraxia's guests now.” he chuckled. Tharn paid him no mind, didn’t even spare him a glance as he walked through the door. Imogen, however, couldn’t take his eyes off of him, which gave him the chance to block the doorway with his arm. From the other side, Tharn stopped, glancing back, but he said nothing. Still, he waited as the orc leaned closer to Imogen’s face. 

“So you're Abnur Tharn's bodyguard and valet? Not what I expected. I assume you want to follow your master into the queen's inner sanctum, hmm? I'll allow it. But first, I want to gauge the measure of your marrow.”

Imogen’s eyes darted about, from his eyes to his teeth to the strange visage that seemed to float just beyond him, a face with no body. As her heart raced, she couldn’t quite make out what it was. But she was sure of something. “You’re...one of Euraxia’s necromancers.”

He smiled a toothy grin. “I am Queen Euraxia's chief necromancer. You may call me Zumog Phoom. The other gravecallers answer to me. And this is my familiar and confidant, Sir Cadwell the Betrayer.”

She focused her eyes on the face next to him. Her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. It was a floating head. From the other side of the door, Tharn still stood, hands behind his back, watching the conversation. His eyes fixated on Imogen.

Zumog Phoom leaned closer to her. “The Betrayer saw you when it looked through the Soul Shriven's eyes. The creature you know is a pale shadow of the dark knight that once walked these lands. I exhumed his remains and reanimated him. Well, his head. It was all I could find."

“I...why are you telling me all of this?”

The orc laughed. “As a warning. After all, it’s only sporting. And I wanted to meet Abnur Tharn's lackey and determine if Queen Euraxia had anything to fear. The answer is quite clear. Your insignificance rivals that of the Soul Shriven fool, which makes you eminently forgettable.”

It was then Imogen realized she had been holding herself tightly, her arms hugging her torso, her back hunched. While fear clearly danced on her face, she rolled her shoulders back and dropped her arms to the side. 

“Well, then...I suppose I’m not so insignificant that I couldn’t meet you,” she murmured before giving a small bow and ducking under the orc’s arm. Once on the other side of the door, the orc dropped his arm, sneering after her. Tharn fixed the creature an austere glance before pushing Imogen to move. 

“Stay a step behind me,” he whispered as they approached the throne. Imogen could hardly hear him. She was focusing on keeping her arms at her side and her breathing even. She bit both sides of her cheeks to try to keep any expression off her face. She spoke with a dragon and now a necromancer. Facing a queen shouldn’t be any harder, right?

From the sideline, a young Imperial woman held up a scroll. “Presenting Abnur Tharn, Grand Chancellor and Overlord of Nibenay, Imperial Battlemage of the Elder Council, and Patriarch of the Tharn dynasty. And his valet.”

The two of them stopped short of the steps leading up to the throne. Imogen slowly cast her eyes upon the woman sitting there. She was older than Imogen had imagined, but she wasn’t sure why she thought Tharn’s younger sister would be that much younger than him. Still, Imogen had to admit that the older woman did look quite regal. 

Euraxia smiled. “Ah, half-brother, your arrival, it's so…” she paused, leaning one cheek against her hand. “...Unexceptional.”

So much for formalities. Imogen watched as Tharn fixed his sister a stern gaze. “Pretending to be a queen isn't—”

“Hush Abnur,” All amusement was gone from voice. “You bore me. You always have.” She leaned back in her throne, crossing one leg over the other before resting her chin in her hands. Her eyes snapped to Imogen. “But you...you’re new. Come talk to me.”

Imogen blinked and looked to Tharn. He kept his posture, but he clenched his jaw. “You heard her,” he murmured. “Good luck.”

First a dragon, then a necromancer, now a queen. Imogen liked it better when she was invisible. Taking a little breath, Imogen lifted the hem of her dress and ascended the stairs, trying to keep her eyes fixated on Euraxia. She could not look away. To do so was to show weakness. 

Once she was before the so-called queen, there was a pause. Euraxia grinned a malicious little grin. “Have you not been taught that you’re to bow before a queen?”

Imogen tightened her shoulders. “I have, yes.”

When nothing else was said, Euraxia cocked a brow. Imogen couldn’t help but notice how much the woman looked like Tharn. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

“I apologize,” Imogen swallowed, hoping it wasn’t audible. “But I do not see one.”

The grin vanished in an instant, replaced with a cold stare. “I’d watch my words if I were you. You’re on the losing side. Which reminds me. Why should I even consider negotiating with you and Abnur, hm?”

Her fear had to be written on her face. Imogen knew she couldn’t mask it. Still, she made a pretense of bravery. She clutched at the fabric of her dress, to keep her hands steady and by her side. Had it really been so long since she had to stand her ground? Sure, she was a pitiful, scared child once upon a time, but she had eventually blossomed into a well-spoken member of the court. She presented theses at the Arcane University! Speaking to the Usurper Queen shouldn’t be that hard. 

Plus Tharn was right behind her. 

“Because we might have a common enemy,” Imogen started, staring at Euraxia’s mouth. Less intense than her eyes.

The older woman chuckled. “Is that so?”

“We’ve come to warn you, Euraxia Tharn,” Imogen continued, ignoring her. “The Dragons consider you nothing more than a puppet. They are merely using you.”

“Dragons?” Euraxia practically purred. “Now, what in Oblivion could you possibly be talking about?”

“You needn’t play games with me,” Imogen found herself raising her voice if only just a little. “We know you’re allied with the Dragons. They attack on your command, for now anyway. They assist you in your battles against the Khajiit. And the one called Mulaamnir admitted to your alliance before speaking of your eventual downfall.”

Euraxia sat up straight in her throne. “You think that your flowery tongue will cause me to slip and reveal my deepest, darkest plan? How little you understand the mind of a Tharn. I grow tired of you. Instead, I think I will take you to the dungeons. Make you beg for mercy before I give your remains to Phoom.”

The threat made Imogen inch back, but she glared. At this point, her heart was racing. “You agreed to this parley. Surely even a false queen would keep her word.”

Imogen knew she shouldn’t have said it. The ice in Euraxia’s eyes froze her blood. “I told you to watch your words,” the Usurper Queen said, her voice dripping with malice. “Let's see how brave you sound when I rip the tongue from your mouth. Mulaamnir and I have reached an understanding. The Dragons will secure my control of Elsweyr.

“Enough of this!” she suddenly declared. “Zumog Phoom, what news do you bring me?”

Before she had time to step back further, the orc was by Imogen’s side. Imogen felt herself freeze in place. 

The orc bowed to his queen. “The Desert Wind Adeptorium has fallen. We move against Riverhold on your word.”

She smiled. “Then the word is given. Now, half-brother…”

Imogen watched as the guards moved away from the walls. Tharn snorted. “Treachery? How could I ever have anticipated.”

Euraxia waved a hand in their direction. “Take them to the dungeons.”

Tensing up, Imogen started to assess the situation. She could defend herself when needed but against a dozen guards and a powerful necromancer?

“I think not.”

The words were soon washed out by the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears, as well as a loud hum that enveloped her in darkness. 

The smell hit her before her vision returned, sour and penetrating. As her eyes adjusted, she reached out for a wall to hold her up. “Where, where are we?” 

“The palace sewers,” she heard Tharn reply next to her, out of breath. “I prepared for Euraxia's probable betrayal. Unfortunately, my teleport spell wasn't quite able to penetrate the palace wards. So we wound up down here.”

She grimaced as he hunched over, resting his hands on his knees. “I’m...I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I should have handled that better. I…”

“Now, now,” he panted. “Things actually turned out better than I expected. We heard two things of note. First, Euraxian forces have invaded the Desert Wind Adeptorium for some insidious purpose. And second, my vile half-sister ordered an attack on Riverhold.” 

Despite his exhaustion, Tharn was back to business. Imogen wondered what it would take for the man to lose his cool. “Then we need to return to Riverhold at once and warn the others.”

“One thing at a time, Imogen. One thing at a time. I need to recover my strength after teleporting us into this skeever hole.” Tharn straightened up, but he clutched an arm as if he had been stabbed and was trying to stay the bleeding. “I'll need your help to get out of here. Then we can deal with both Desert Wind and Riverhold.”

Just like when the Dragon had attacked the camp, Imogen held out a hand to Tharn. “Chancellor, I...I’ve never seen you...you seem...weaker than you were…”

He batted her hand away. “My age is finally catching up with me. Thank you so much for poking that open wound,” he growled. Imogen pursed her lips, averting her eyes. There was a beat and then a sigh. “Magic takes a toll on the body. I've been wielding powerful forces since before you were born. There's always a cost. You'd do well to remember that.”

“Yes sir,” Imogen whispered, her eyes downcast. 

“My strength will return, Imogen,” he grunted, staggering onwards. “It always does. Now, let us get out of the sewer and get back to work.” 

Getting out of the sewer would have been an easy task if Tharn was back to full strength. Or if Kalo was with them. Anyone other than herself, Imogen thought. They inched through the dank halls. Angry commands echoed off the walls. Once or twice, Imogen spotted shadows of men. She would usher Tharn around a corner or in an alcove, casting a low-level illusory spell to detract nosey ne’er-do-wells. 

But they did eventually see sunlight, emerging from the sewer as the sun began to set. By then, Tharn was able to stand up straighter, his breathing back to normal. “We'll separate here. Make it harder for Euraxia's lackeys to follow us,” he said, wiping his brow. “I’ll head back to Riverhold and help Gharesh-ri prepare for the attack. You, meanwhile, should head to the Adeptorium. I’ll send you brother that way as well.”

Imogen nodded, but she continued to study him. “Perhaps I should go back with you…”

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Tharn scoffed. “I can get myself to Riverhold perfectly fine. Stop worrying about me and focus on the task at hand. The Adeptorium is due west.”

Suppressing a sigh, Imogen nodded again and started making her way down the little hillside. 

“By the way,” Tharn called out, causing her pause. “Back there with Euraxia, it was nice to see the Imogen I knew before I left and not this morose, anxiety-plagued mouse you’ve reverted to. Has the war taken that much of a toll on you?”

She didn’t want to turn back but she did, a sad smile on her face. “Can you blame me? I mean, I technically lost my brother once already. I don’t want to lose him again, or...or anyone else I care about.”

Using his staff as a walking stick, Tharn caught up to her. “I suppose that’s fair. At any rate, I’ll send Kalo to you. And I’ll make sure he brings with him some more...practical clothing.” Imogen blinked as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you’d appreciate it, though I do hope you keep the dress. It suits you.”

Tharn patted the shoulder before carrying on, not staying to watch Imogen’s face reddened. “West, Imogen,” he called over his shoulder. “To the Adeptorium. Focus!”

What a word. Focus. As she watched him walk away, she tried to untangle the web of words snarling in her head. First a Dragon, then a Necromancer, then a queen, now this. 

Groaning, she started west. Next time Kalo tried to drag her on an adventure, she was going to make sure she was drunk.


	5. Rage Against the What Ifs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suck at action scenes meeeeh

Even with her eyes open, even though she stared at the tent’s low, pointed ceiling, she couldn’t see. Or perhaps her eyes weren’t open. That would explain the dark, bruised colored backdrop, the swirling cascade of lights dancing in her vision. Nothing but her blood rushing and what sounds like a bell constantly ringing in her ears. Even when tired, Imogen had never felt like this, in an in-between state of consciousness and oblivion. Perhaps she was asleep. Perhaps she was awake. Perhaps she was dreaming. Yes, that would certainly explain things. Would explain everything. The tingling she still felt on her forehead. It lingered. It lingered, but it certainly couldn’t be real. Nothing could be real. None of it. Because none of it made any sense to her. The dragon, the fire, the ice and blood. None of it. Certainly not the pressure she had felt on her head. Certainly not. 

After all, she could never be strong enough. She could never measure up to that height. Never sparkle or glitter or shine. 

But while she was sinking- or perhaps she was floating- she had nothing but her thoughts to occupy her. Nothing but the past to pass the time. 

“Magic takes a toll on the body. There's always a cost. You'd do well to remember that.”

~.~

He must have looked strange, almost a skip to his step as Kalo marched through the fields of Elsweyr, his pack on his back and sword in his hand, humming a song he made up as he marched along. Finally, he had been given a task, a real task to help the cause. Not just chase off some pathetic necromancers or find lost documents or deliver letters. When Tharn had told to meet Imogen at the Adeptorium and stop the attack Euraxia had ordered, Kalo practically ran out the door. Sure, he could see the impatience in Tharn’s eye, the look Gharesh-ri and Khamira probably gave him as he left. Why couldn’t he be exuberant and excited to fight? Why did that mean he wasn’t taking the situation seriously? He missed the days helping the Covenant. There were plenty of soldiers there who understood, who felt that thrill deep in their souls whenever an opportunity to fight reared its glorious head. Here in Elsweyr, Kalo was surrounded by nay-sayers and serious politicians. 

At least Caldwell understood. But that wasn’t too much comfort. The strange man had been acting even stranger, something Kalo had tried to address to Tharn. But the politician had more “important” matters to attend.

As he approached the tall, stone walls of what he believed to be the Adeptorium, Kalo studied as Euraxian soldiers stood watch. Yes, it had to be the right building. His sword hand twitched, but he kept it steady. Eager as he was, he knew he had to do this “by the book.” First, find his sister, make sure she was safe from harm. Then he could beat the mercenaries into a pulp. 

“If I was Immy, where would I hide?” he asked himself, knowing full well that his sister would be hiding in wait for him rather than tackling the situation single-handedly. That was usually the nice thing about adventuring with his sister; she didn’t take action. She left it to Kalo to be victorious. Did she try to fight Molag Bal? No. She left that glory to him. Sure, she tried to convince Kalo not to do it, she begged Tharn to find another way, but she didn’t interfere further than that. When he took small odd jobs in towns, Imogen would sometimes assist him, but never took any credit she might have deserved, any accolades she might have received if she had spoken up. Kalo appreciated that. Not that he took all the credit when reporting his victories. But the thanks and praise he got from the thankful citizens always made his heart swell. 

No, his sister wasn’t a fighter. She was much too cautious for that, too bookish and afraid. Keeping quiet, Kalo sidled to the side of the Adeptorium. Behind a few rocks, there he found her, crouched down in the dirt, her hands holding up the hem of a purple silken dress. 

“So, how was the parley?” Kalo whispered as he approached her. 

The older sibling tensed until she realized it was him. “Did you bring me clothes?” 

Kalo chuckled, crouching next to his big sister as he handed her the pack. “Tharn said that you told Euraxia she could fuck herself.” 

Snatching the bag, Imogen made a face at him. “He did not.”

“Well, I’m paraphrasing. He said it much more...Tharn-like.” 

Sighing, Imogen motioned for Kalo to turn around. He did so, looking toward the building and the Euraxians. He heard the buckling of the pack and the rustling of clothes. “What have you seen while you were waiting for me?” he asked. 

“Not much,” Imogen grunted behind him. “A few of them were trying to knock the door down. It wasn’t working, so a few of them went around this way. A bit further on is a cave. Might lead inside.” There was a pause and Kalo heard more rustling. “Where did you find these clothes?”

Kalo shrugged. “Tharn gave ‘em to me. Kind of old-school Imperial, right?”

Returning to her spot next to him, Imogen handed the boy the pack, now stuffed with her dress. She was wearing what appeared to be an old set of Imperial armor, a male’s version at that. The red oversized tunic was much bigger on her, reaching just below her knees. She tied the leather armor atop it tightly. The boots were a better fit surprisingly. She couldn’t help but wonder why Tharn had the armor with him. 

“Okay,” she took a breath. “Are you ready? There’s probably a lot of those mercenaries inside.” 

Kalo grinned a toothy grin. “Let’s go kick some ass.”

Imogen was right; the cave was littered with Euraxia’s forces. Wasting no time, Kalo fought any that got in their way. Of course, as always, his sister helped, lending him her magic when needed. But if one were keeping count (and Kalo certainly was), he had the bigger body count. 

Deeper in the cave, they came across a rather solid stone door surrounded by dead mercenaries and Khajiit alike. A Khajiit stood by, panting, and glared when he saw the two of them. 

“This one will not allow you to enter this holy place!" he bellowed, a bit louder than his weakened state should have allowed. Before Imogen could open her mouth, the Khajiit narrowed his eyes. “You do not look like the Usurper Queen's soldiers! Who are you and what are you doing down here?"

“Easy, big guy,” Kalo said, sheathing his sword. “You’re right. We’re not Euraxians. We’re actually here to kill them.”

“We’re helping the Khajiiti Defense Force,” Imogen quickly added. “We heard that the Euraxians were planning to attack this Adeptorium.”

The Khajiit’s gaze softened. “Khajiiti Defense Force? This one expected we were on our own, what with the Dragons and the battles to the north.” He got out of his defensive pose. “Zamarak came down here to seal this path, but now he thinks the Euraxians seek the Grand Adept.”

“Grand Adept?” Imogen echoed.   
“Isn’t that a...what’s it called, an oxymoron?” Kalo added.  
Imogen put a hand on his sandy blond mop, pushing him to the side slightly. “What would Euraxia want with this Grand Adept?”

"Desert Wind holds many Khajiiti secrets, and the keeper of those secrets is the Grand Adept.” Zamarak turned to open the stone door he had been guarding. “If you truly want to help, follow Zamarak to the Grand Adept's chambers."

Without another word, the three of them entered the Adeptorium. Surprisingly, there were more of the mercenaries inside. It appeared that Zamarak, as diligently as he fought, could not keep all of them from entering. Or perhaps they were finally able to open the main door. Whichever was the case, both Zamarak and Kalo made quick work of the Imperial monsters. 

“The Grand Adept’s chambers are straight ahead,” the Khajiit instructed as Kalo dispatched the last mercenary in the vicinity. Almost as if speaking unleashed a curse, the door head of them began to close from the top down. “Nine winds, no! Get to the door!"

Using his long legs, Zamarak sprinted for the door, crouching down and catching it with his shoulder blades. “Go, save the Grand Adept! Zamarak cannot hold this for long. This one will find another way inside."

Kalo didn’t argue. He slid under the door with ease. Imogen hesitated, biting her cheek at their new ally, but Zamarak began to groan under the weight of the door. Quickly, she followed her brother inside. Almost immediately, the door slammed behind them. 

A sickening familiar squish echoed off the walls, a strained gasp followed by a thud. Imogen watched as a mercenary pulled her staff out of the stomach of a Khajiit. She then stood idly by, tapping her nails along her staff. She smiled at the siblings as Kalo clenched his sword tightly in his hands. 

"You're too late,” she chuckled. “The Grand Adept revealed all before I killed her.”

Imogen had no idea what sort of secrets Euraxia would want from what appeared to be a temple, but she had no time to question the mage. Kalo charged as the mage sent out a streak of lightning. Easily, Kalo dodged it, feinting to his left before slashing to the right. The nice thing about being left-handed was that most fighters were expecting strikes from the right. The mage was able to step back, but not enough to avoid getting a nasty slice to her right arm. 

While that was happening, Imogen went over to inspect the body of whom she assumed to be the Grand Adept. She noted the flooding of the room, odd for a stone room in the middle of a temple. As she reached for the Adept’s face, a flash caught her attention. The mage had sent a few more bolts Kalo’s way, but he was good at seeing where she was going to send them. It’s what happens when you use a large, straight stick to cast spells. Growling, the mage raised her staff above her head. 

Instinctively, Imogen shot up. “Kalo, out of the water!” she shouted while heading to dry land. The mage drove her staff into the ground. Sparks danced along the water’s surface as Kalo dove onto the dry land on the other side of the room. The body of the Adept jerked and sputtered about, small clouds of smoke rolling out from the blackening fur. If there had been a chance the Adept was alive, it was certainly gone. 

The mage smirked. “Smart girl. But neither of you are a match for my powers. You will fall like wheat before a blade!"

Kalo rolled his eyes as he got to his feet. “Do you know how many people have said that to me? And yet I’m still here!”

Imogen watched as the mage held the staff close to her, concentrating. She was preparing some sort of spell, but with the water still electrified, here was no way Kalo could reach her to stop it, and Imogen was too far away to use any kind of magic on the woman. But she was close to the water. As the mage unleashed a flurry of cyclones, Imogen shot her own spell as well, aimed at the water. Soon, the room got colder and cracking bounced off the walls as water began to freeze over. She didn’t have time to explain to Kalo her thinking. He was busy dodging swirling winds. She jumped onto the ice and ran towards him to help. Just that action, though, was enough for Kalo to understand. 

Water conducts electricity, but ice doesn’t. 

Dodging another cyclone, Kalo charged at the mage yet again. She was too busy glaring at Imogen to notice the boy until it was too late. He aimed for her face. So many people protected their torsos and legs and backs but forgot about their faces. A slash to one eye. A terrible shriek before that sickening familiar squish and strained gasp followed by a thud. The fight was over. The battle won. 

Panting, Kalo stood over the body a moment, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He closed his eyes and took a breath before pulling the sword from out of her. Imogen glanced about the room.

“Something feels off,” she murmured. There was a presence. Like they weren’t the only ones in the room. 

“No, please! Noooo!" 

In a flash, the woman was in front of her, but a shadow of her former self, a spirit bound and chained, if such a thing were possible. The malice was gone from her face, replaced with fear and pain. 

“Help me! Don't let Zumog Phoom take my soul!”

Imogen took a step back from the distraught spirit. “I, what are you talking about?”

"He called it…a blessing. Said it would protect me. Damn him, he claimed my soul!  
Please, you must help me. Release me from this…curse." 

The spirit’s pain made Imogen wince, made her clutch at her chest. “I don’t…”

Kalo huffed. “Why did you kill the Adept?” He asked, bringing the tip of his sword toward the spirit as if he could threaten her with it. “Tell us what brought you here and we’ll help you.”

The spirit struggled against her bonds. “The location of the Betrayer's body parts,” she panted. “I learned where the dismembered corpse was hidden. Now, please, help me."

Before Imogen could say anything, the mage let out a terrible scream, her spirit writhing. “And now that location belongs to me.”

Jumping to action, Kalo placed himself in between the spirit and Imogen, sneering up at where the voice came from. Imogen’s face turned pale. 

The orc in the balcony smiled. “So we meet again, little bodyguard.” 

Frozen in place, Imogen watched as the spirit squirmed and screamed and suddenly disappeared. Kalo took a step back, closer to his sister, his back hunched and teeth bared. 

“And what’s this? The bodyguard’s bodyguard?” Zumog Phoom chuckled. “What the battlemage knew in life, she whispers to me in death. Soon Riverhold will fall and the Betrayer will be restored."

“Come down here and fight me, you coward!” Kalo barked. Suddenly Imogen placed a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. She couldn’t speak. How could her brother not know, though? Could he not feel it, the overwhelming sense of dread? Could he not smell it, the powering odor of death? It billowed out of the necromancer like leaves caught in the wind. He didn’t even have to try. 

“In due time, little man. In due time.” With that, the orc vanished. 

Calming down, Kalo turned his head to see the fear in his sister’s face. That wasn’t unusual. As far as he was concerned, she was always afraid. He gave her a stern look, one that always looked strange on the 13-year-old’s face. “Who was that?”

Imogen took a few shaky breaths. “Euraxia’s right-hand man. A necromancer.”

A loud crash interrupted their conversation. Kalo quickly jumped back into position, but he eased up as Zamarak came barreling in through the wall. The boy’s eyes widen. How did the Khajiit do that?

Zamarak took one cursory glance of the room and his face fell. “Grand Adept...no…” Closing his eyes, he sunk to his knees. “This one was too slow. Zamarak has failed. Again.”

Sheathing his sword, Kalo cast his sister a glance- she gave him a small nod- before walking over to the Khajiit. “We were too late too,” he said with a small smile. “Sorry. But, if it’s any consolation...we killed the bitch that did her in.”

With his eyes still closed, Zamarak breathed deeply through his nose before nodding. "Zamarak thanks you for avenging the Grand Adept. But why did they attack this peaceful adeptorium? Why kill a harmless, old student of the desert winds?"

“I don’t really understand it,” Kalo said, looking over his shoulder at the remains of the Grand Adept. “But something your master knew. Location of a body. Whatever it was, Euraxia wanted to know about it.”

It was silent a moment as Imogen held herself tightly, arms across her chest. Zamarak’s head dropped, his breathing getting deeper and deeper with each second. Almost knocking Kalo over, Zamarak stood up. "The Usurper Queen made a mistake when she had the Grand Adept killed. Whatever they came to find had an unintended consequence. It has roused the students of the desert winds.” He gave Kalo a hard look. “Zamarak pledges the adepts to Gharesh-ri's cause. Euraxia will fall."

“Phoom was heading to Riverhold,” Imogen whispered loud enough for them to hear it, finally finding some voice left in her. “Euraxia gave the word to attack it.”

Zamarak bowed to both Imperials. "We are not many, but we are strong. The adepts of the Desert Wind will aid the city. Zamarak will see you there after he makes sure the Grand Adept receives the proper blessings. The Usurper Queen will regret rousing the Desert Wind. "

~.~

"We need your cart to help barricade the city, Grishka. The Mane will compensate you for any damage."

As the siblings approached the small town, a tension rolled in the air. A small barricade was being constructed just beyond the bridge. Everyone was darting about, no one lolling about. Khamira was amongst them, giving orders left and right. Eager for a new task, Kalo started to skip over. Imogen placed a hand on his shoulder. “We should report to the Chancellor.”

He frowned. “You report to the Chancellor,” he said in a mocking tone. “I’m going to help out here.” 

Sighing, she let him go, heading for the small war room. Gharesh-ri and Tharn were placing pins and ink wells and other sorts of paraphernalia along a sketch of the city. A war map. Imogen knocked on the doorway. The two of them looked up at her. 

Gharesh-ri nodded to her in greeting. “Abnur Tharn told me what happened in Rimmen. "I sent Khamira out to coordinate the city's defenses while Tharn and I continue to refine our strategy.” He sighed. “Can we hold the city or should we fall back? I hope the battlemage can pull a miracle out of his ear, but we cannot count on that."

Tharn snorted and looked to Imogen. “What did you and Kalo learn at the Adeptorium?”

Pursing her lips, Imogen crossed the room. “We...that necromancer was there. He wanted the location of, of some body. The body of the Betrayer.”

He stroked his chin. “I often wondered who Cadwell was before he arrived in Coldharbour. I know the tales of the Betrayer, but I never equated the two. The Cadwell we know is so…not that.”

Imogen blinked at him. “Cadwell? The, the crazy Soul Shriven? What does he…?”

“Didn’t you recognize him from the palace?” Tharn cocked a brow. “He was with Zumog Phoom before we spoke to Euraxia. The floating head.”

“Oh,” Imogen said in a small voice. “I was too terrified to notice.”

Tharn nodded. “Understandable. But enough of that. We'll deal with Zumog Phoom after we save Riverhold. Anything else to report?"

She shook her head, but then quickly spoke up. “No, wait, yes. The adepts from the temple, they’re on their way to help with the cause and defend the city.”

Gharesh-ri relaxed his shoulders. “That is good news, better than we’ve heard in a while.”

“Indeed,” Tharn agreed. “Many of the adepts have remarkable martial skills that we could surely make use of. Speaking of which, are you ready to help defend the city?"

“Me?” Imogen squeaked. 

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Tharn tutted. “We all have to do our part. I’m sure your brother is actively trying to do his.”

Before moving to the doorway, Gharesh-ri patted Imogen on the shoulder. “It would be good to have another mage on our side.”

As the Speaker left to inform Khamira of the situation, Tharn returned to placing pieces on the map. "For now, recover your strength and prepare yourself. Euraxia's forces will arrive soon.” 

She stood around the table for a moment, watching him plan. He didn’t say anything to this, he just continued his work. “Do you think we can do this?”

Tharn didn’t bother to look up. “Don’t waste your time worrying about what could go wrong. That’s a surefire way to fail.”

“So...think positively?”

“No,” he glanced at her. “Focus on what needs to happen. Not what could go right or wrong. Just the task at hand. What the plan is. That is all you need to think about. Let Gharesh-ri and I think about the possible outcomes.” 

“Oh,” was all she could say. She was hoping for more reassuring words, but she should have known better. Just like before, Tharn was back to business. Without another word or sound, Imogen turned on her heels. If Tharn was going to be business, she supposed she should as well. 

~.~

Torchlight lit the city, giving the town square a cozy glow. Though the moons were high in the sky, the town was wide awake. People milled about the streets, some anxious, some with their weapons idly at their sides. That tension still lingered. No one knew when the attack would happen, but they would be ready. 

Jumping from foot to foot, Kalo tried to keep warm. Without the heat of the sun, there was a chill in the air. But Kalo had taken upon himself to patrol the perimeter. If any Euraxians tried to ambush the town, he was going to gut them like the slimy fish they were. 

Turning the corner, a spark flickered. For a second, Kalo got defensive, but a smile quickly spread across his face. 

“What are you up to, Sir Cadwell?”

Not even looking up from his work, which seemed to involve metals and springs and pots and pans and what looked like a bear trap, Cadwell smiled. “So good to see you again, boy. I missed you terribly. Seems just like it was only yesterday we were storming Coldharbour, slashing our way through hordes of Daedra. Now, mind where you step. I had no idea I could make such delightful murder toys. You don't want to stick a toe into any of them, though. Blew my little piggy right off."

With his hands on his knees, Kalo examined the Soul Shriven’s work. “You didn’t know you could make murder toys?”

"I can play the lute. Magnificent swordplay? My specialty! I can even make a delicious Daedra-heart flambe. But these doodads that go kaboom just popped into my head while thinking about how to help the cat folk. I quite like the cat folk."

The Imperial couldn’t help but laugh. “So you just thought about making traps and...did it?”

"Wouldn't that be remarkable? Decide you need to know something and it just occurs to you in a flash of inspiration? Chocolate souffle!” He paused his work and held out his hands. The two of them stared at his empty hands for a moment. “No, didn't work. More likely, it's something I knew before they chopped my head off and scrambled my memories."

Sitting down, Kalo tilted his head. “That’s how you originally died, right? Decapitation? Sounds like a terrible way to go.” He rubbed his neck. Just thinking about it sounded unpleasant. 

Cadwell nodded. “Took it right off the old body, yes. Not that I recall details. Probably better that way.” Clapping his hands together, he started tinkering with the metals again. “Anywho, you can help me arm the last few traps along the road. Just twiddle the spring and tweak the fiddly bit.”

Standing up, Kalo looked around. Indeed, There were a few traps about the nearby road. “You’ve been busy. Okay, yeah, I can set some traps. How do I do it?”

“Carefully,” Cadwell replied. “Watch. I'll show you." He Jumped up and sauntered up to a set of ropes. "To arm a trap, just twiddle this bit like so and…." He barely touched the piece when it erupted into a noise blast. The charred Soul Shriven blinked a few times. “Oh dear. I think I twiddled when I should have tweaked.”

Giggling, Kalo skipped over to Cadwell and gave the man a pat on the back. “Don’t worry, Sir Cadwell, Kalo the Valiant is on the job.” 

As he set the traps, Kalo thought back to when he first met Cadwell. Freshly dead, a strange, hellish nightmare of a world, being thrown into a destiny he would have never dreamt about. He hated to admit it, but Kalo was terrified. He had clung to Lyris like a frightened babe, much to his shame. He had always wanted to be a warrior like Lyris proved to be. But he wasn’t ready to face the horrors of the Daedra. For hadn’t realized it at the time, but seeing them, hearing them, it all reminded him of a few years ago, when he and Imogen fled Cyrodiil. He was but a child at the time, and all around him seemed to be chaotic. He hadn’t seen any Daedra at the time, but he occasionally heard them in the distance. The snarls and growls. And the laughs. The laughs were the worst. And all those fears came rushing back to him. 

And then

“One fine day in the middle of the night, two dead kings got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other, drew their bows...and stabbed themselves!"

There was something about the wacky knight that helped Kalo relax. For someone to seem so at home in all the chaos, it gave Kalo enough strength to keep going and follow Lyris on her crazy plan. 

Smiling, Kalo leaned back and admired his and Cadwell’s handiwork. The traps were set. Wiping his hands, he started to skip back to where Cadwell was waiting. 

“The traps are set, Sir Cad-” He stopped short. 

“Oh my,” Cadwell said, holding his head in his hands, his eyes glowing and smoking. “It’s happening again, my boy. Oh dear, that is a terrifying orc. A necromancer, I believe. Just has that look.”

“Cadwell,” Kalo murmured. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

"I have enough trouble seeing through my own eyes, let alone someone else's,” Cadwell shook his head, and suddenly the light show was over. “The Betrayer's head…I'm not sure why we're connected or why it insists on showing me the most disturbing images.”

Kalo frowned. “The Betrayer? Who is that? Everyone keeps mentioning them. Some stupid necromancer wants to find his body for some stupid reason.”

Cadwell tapped his chin. “I saw an Orc necromancer. Dreadful chap. He's coming to Riverhold…and he's bringing his nasty undead chums with him!"

“Wait, right now?” Kalo’s eyes widened. 

As if on cue, they heard a few explosions up the road from where Kalo had finished setting up the traps. Despite the situation, Kalo smiled. Mercenaries are so dumb. 

“I have to get back to Riverhold,” Kalo said, pulling out his sword. “We got to warn the others.”

Cadwell bowed deeply. “Riverhold, with cats so bold! I'll see you there, if truth be told! 

~.~

The calm before the storm. Imogen always thought that to be an odd expression. Nothing seemed calm about the way the Khajiiti Defense Force carried themselves, pacing, watching, waiting. She supposed the calm referred to the juxtaposition in the stillness in the air, the silence surrounding them. 

She stood by Tharn and Gharesh-ri, both calm and yet tense at the same time. Juxtapositions of their own. Imogen tried to taking Tharn’s words to heart, to leave the worrying to them. But it wasn’t in her nature. What-ifs bombarded her head left and right. 

Across the way, she watched her brother talk with Khamira and Cadwell. That same mixture of calm and tense was written on Khamira’s face. Cadwell and Kalo...well, not so much. Kalo looked rather serious for once. That had Imogen worried. 

A sigh to her right made her almost jump. “If you told me a year ago that I would be wandering Elsweyr on behalf of the Khajiit to deal with a rage of Dragons…” Tharn tilted his head toward her. “I would have turned you into a newt for spouting such nonsense. Yet here we are."

Imogen couldn’t help but frown. “Kalo said the Euraxians weren’t far from here. Shouldn’t we be...I don’t know…”

“No, you don’t know,” Tharn shook his head. “I told you to leave the worrying to me. We don’t have the numbers for an offensive strike, so we have no choice but to lie in wait for their attack.”

Her body suddenly went rigid. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “Chancellor, I’m not a soldier. I can’t…”

He whipped his head in her direction. “Did you hesitate to follow your brother into Coldharbour?”

“Yes!” she breathlessly muttered. “Of course I did.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

He fixed her with a steady gaze. “And do you have one now?”

Swallowing, she shook her head, looking over to where her brother stood, sword in hand. 

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Tharn stood up straight, hands behind his back. “Shoulders back, Imogen. Shoulders back.”

That calm seemed to last forever. It was only a few hours until dawn. Perhaps her brother was mistaken. Perhaps the Euraxians planned to keep them up all night, for hours on end. Perhaps they had their eyes on another prize and this was all just a distraction. 

What if, what if, what if. 

When you’re waiting for something to happen, time moves by in the slowest of fashions. What seems like hours is really just seconds. Every mundane thing captures your attention. Your breathing, your heartbeat, the feeling of your skin covering your body. 

So when the first wave of arrows came raining down, Imogen was relieved. Relieved from an attack. 

She had never imagined how battles in a war started. Everyone knew how they ended. But when does a battle become a battle? When is it just a skirmish or a fight? Either way, she was still unsure. It all happened so quickly. One moment, total silence, the next, shouting and banging and steel ringing and fire crackling. The calm was over. The storm had struck. And like a storm, it struck hard. 

From the sidelines, she watched her brother fight alongside the others. How pathetic she felt, watching her younger brother fight through a horde with ease while she stood in the shadows. 

Gharesh-ri shook his head. “It is not looking good. We were able to increase our ranks, but we’re nowhere near their numbers.”

Tharn nodded. “Not even close. We’ll stick to the plan for now, though.”

Imogen wanted to ask what that plan was, but she knew it wasn’t her place. Besides, a strange sensation was creeping through her body, a cold sweat, a terrible premonition. Just as she was about to ask, Tharn turned to her. 

“The necromancer’s here.” He sounded so calm. 

“I can’t,” she whimpered. 

“What, are you going to let your brother face him alone?” he barked. “His sword against the necromancer’s magic? I’m sure that will go over well.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before running toward the fray. Tharn’s eyes followed her. 

The old Khajiit glanced at Tharn. “Can she handle the necromancer?”

“I doubt it,” Tharn admitted, shifting on his feet. “But I also doubt the necromancer will be staying long. He’s much too important to my half-sister to waste time in a fight.”

Gharesh-ri furrowed his brow. “Then why did you send her out?”

“Because she’s good in a fight when pushed hard enough. Besides, standing around was making her too jittery, and it was starting to get on my nerves.”

A small laugh escaped Gharesh-ri’s mouth as he turned back to the battle. By this point, Imogen had caught up with the commander, Nala-do, and her brother, who were fighting beside each other, a few dead mercenaries at their feet. Before Imogen could even utter a word, though, a puff of black smoke blurred past them. Suddenly, they were face to face with the necromancer yet again, surrounded by soldiers. 

“Hold your ground!” Nala-do commanded, tightening the grip on her sword as she eyed the mercenaries. 

Zumog Phoom sneered. “Riverhold belongs to Queen Euraxia, cats!" He held out his left hand, slowly tightening his grip around an invisible object. Just as the Euraxian soldiers were about the charge, Phoom flicked his wrist. In an instant, the soldiers flopped to the ground like rag dolls. 

The Defense Force didn’t have time to be shocked. With the same speed he killed his soldiers, Phoom flicked his wrist again. Like puppets on strings, the soldiers stood back up, their eyes glazed over. 

Kalo gritted his teeth. “You sick bastard!”  
“You grave robbing cur!” Nala-do spat. 

The young boy’s body shook. “You just killed your own men. You make me sick!” He started for Phoom. 

The necromancer just laughed. “Every death is just a new recruit for Euraxia's army!" Before Kalo could reach him, Phoom vanished and the undead soldiers surrounded him. Quickly, Nala-do and the other recruits with her jumped to action.

There was a pit in Imogen’s stomach. What kind of person could kill his soldiers like that? It wasn’t a question of morality. It was of logic, of power. How strong could Phoom be that in an instant those mercenaries were dead? 

Did they even stand a chance?

While her brother and Nala-do were able to dispatch much of the dead, they kept springing back up. Imogen glanced around, trying to pinpoint where the necromancer was, but she couldn’t see him anywhere. Surely, to keep reviving the dead, the necromancer had to be nearby. But she couldn’t sense him anywhere. 

She made sure Kalo was okay before taking off again. She had to find Phoom. If he kept bringing the dead back to life, there was no end in sight for this battle. 

"This one hates killing the same fools again and again!" the captain shouted, echoing Imogen’s thoughts. 

Upon a hill stood a temple. With that sort of vantage point, Phoom would be able to monitor the whole battle. And if he wasn’t there, it would be a good vantage point for Imogen. She took the first couple of steps before she felt a hand on her shoulder. She yelped before being shushed and turned around. 

“Zamarak! Don’t do that!” she chided. 

The Khajiit didn’t apologize. He had a solemn expression. “This one has an idea. Riverhold's blessed Moon Pillars. They can cleanse the necromantic curse. But Zamarak will need your help as this one sanctifies the grounds."

While she wasn’t entirely sure what he was talking about, Imogen quickly nodded. If she could help with this battle, she wanted to do it. 

Out on the battlefield, Kalo swung his sword wildly. Knocking the dead down wasn't usually too hard. Their bodies were more fragile than in life. But when they kept getting back up, limbs hanging by tendons, blood oozing in chunks rather than in a stream, their faces hollowed and beaten and bruised...it didn't matter how many times Kalo hit them. It didn't matter if he severed the limbs. With grotesque snaps and cracks, they would put themselves back together.

It was bad enough when it was just the fallen Euarxians. Now their fallen allies joined the fray. Panting, Kalo kept swinging. 

Gharesh-ri grimaced and looked away. "We shouldn't have sent a child to battle."

Beside him, Tharn looked on. "He's a child with incredible strength and courage, and tenacity to back it up. We didn't send him out. He sent himself out."

"Still…"

"Have the Khajiit never used child soldiers before?"

Gharesh-ri gave him an even stare. "To use a boy in a man's place…"

"...is sometimes necessary. But necessity or not," Tharn continued, turning his gaze away from Kalo and to another part of the battle. "He was going to fight. It would have been pointless to try to stop him."

Over by the distant garden, Tharn noticed their warriors cheering. They had knocked down the dead and the dead were staying down. 

Gharesh-ri followed Tharn's gaze. "The tide is starting to turn in our favor."

"For now, anyway," Tharn agreed, glancing back at the small crowd of reinforcements behind them. They all looked eager to help but were awaiting commands. "We might not have to use plan B."

"I was never planning to use plan B," Gharesh-ri sighed. "I will not let Euraxia take Riverhold again."

Tharn had much to say about that, but he said nothing. 

Instead, he watched as Zamarak and Imogen ran to another small courtyard. Zamarak knelt next to the shrine while Imogen projected a ward around them. The undead tried to beat the ward, each hit making the girl wince as if she were being hit directly. She might as well have been. Creating a ward was like creating a shield out of one’s essence. Soon, though, Zamarak rose from his spot, and the ward fell. The two of them took care of the undead in that spot before moving onto another. 

By this point, Gharesh-ri understood what the two were doing and informed Tharn of it, though he was able to determine it himself. With the grounds slowly being sanctified, the undead were staying down. Gharesh-ri was right; the tide was starting to turn in their favor. Even exhausted Kalo was starting to get his second wind now that the fight appeared winnable. 

Once Zamarak sanctified the final shrine, Tharn signaled for Imogen to return to the sidelines. Her countenance appeared conflicted, but she did as told, returning to his side. 

“Not bad for one who said she couldn’t do it,” he said as she arrived. 

She looked aside. “I didn’t do much of anything.”

Tharn rolled his eyes. “Compliments from me are so exceedingly rare. You should accept them when they are given.”

Pursing her lips, she nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’d do better with a staff or something to channel your magic into,” he commented, glancing over at her. 

“I had one, but…” Her face paled and she turned away from him more. “...I sort of...your niece broke it.” Or rather, Imogen had broken it over his niece’s head, but she figured he didn’t need those details. 

He glanced over at her slyly. “Which niece?”

“Septima.”

“Ah, so you’re the one who did her in,” he chuckled, his eyes locking back to the battlefield. “What better way for two people to bond than by killing each other’s family.”

That hit Imogen like a slap to the face, and she grimaced as if it was a true slap. “Chancellor, I…”

“Don’t.” He held up a hand, still watching the battle. “I’ve heard of the terrors she had been inflicting. She turned into a vile, despicable woman with hatred in her heart, not the little girl I used to spoil on holidays.” He spared her a glance. “You did what had to be done.”

If that was supposed to make her feel better, it didn’t. “But, she was...I’m…”

“Do you want me to yell at you, Imogen?” Tharn raised his voice, which made the others in the area shift uncomfortably. Even Gharesh-ri tried to inch away. “To say I can’t believe you would do such a thing and that I’ll never forgive you?”

“She was your family…”

He still didn’t turn his head. “I’m well aware of that fact. I’ve been aware of that fact since she was born some 40 odd years ago. That doesn’t change anything. As I said, she was a nightmare of a woman, a disgrace to the Tharn name, and needed to be taken care of. If you hadn’t done it, someone else would have. You have always been empathetic; it’s something I’ve always enjoyed about you. But I do not need the comforting words of a child to move on from something I have already moved on from.”

A second slap to the face. But this one stung differently. Imogen’s demeanor changed as she fixed Tharn a hard stare. “I am 28 years old. I have not been a child for some time. Not for the last 13 years.”

Tharn knew exactly what she was referring to. He couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Everyone’s mother dies, Imogen. Mine did, and you do not see me using that as an excuse to think the world owes me anything.”

“Did you have to walk your mother to the executioner's block?”

Taking a breath, Tharn finally pried his eyes away from the battlefield, the undead dwindling anyway. He studied the fury in Imogen’s eyes, the way her jaw was set, the way she bit her lip to keep her mouth from quivering. “No,” he said softer. “No, I didn’t. I walked a wife there once, though.”

He watched as her shoulders relaxed, as the fury, though desperate to cling, started giving way to pity. Always pity with her, he noticed. But it was better than pure malice. “So you know…”

“The sacrifices we make to uphold the Empire,” Tharn sighed, placing a hand on her forearm. “I’ve always known that. I know, Imogen.” He didn’t apologize, but the gesture was there. Imogen was still shaking with rage, but it was gone from her face. 

Around them, the fighting grew quieter. The undead were no longer innumerable. In a few minutes, they fell. The tension that had been lingering over the battlefield was lifting. But those on the sidelines still felt it. They had been standing by, waiting, more alert to the bigger picture. They were the first to notice the shadows that loomed over the courtyard. They were the first to look up in alarm. Tharn’s grip on Imogen’s arm tightened as she looked up, her body tensing. 

“Easy,” he murmured to her, though he knew it would be useless. There was going to be no calming her once she saw the Dragons flying overhead. 

Almost all fighting ceased. Cries were heard from the field. “Dark Moons! Dragons!”

“We can’t fight Dragons!”

Captain Nala-do glanced around at the soldiers left. “This one will order the retreat,” she said, nodding to the soldiers nearby. They took direction and started to retreat to the sidelines. 

“No!” Imogen heard from behind her. She hadn’t realized Khamira had been back there the whole time. 

A large green Dragon perched atop the temple, towering over them while the others circled the town. “Such pathetic creatures,” he muttered, but his voice vibrated, causing the ground to shake. “Flee before Kaalgrontiid, you insignificant morsels!”

“No!” Khamira shouted again, louder than before. She pushed ahead of Tharn and Gharesh-ri, her eyes narrowing at the Dragon above her. “Riverhold belongs to the Khajiit. We will not surrender to you. We will not give up this fight.”

She turned around, facing the growing crowd of retreating soldiers. “I speak the words my people need to hear.”

Gharesh-ri gave her a steady look. “Khamira...please choose your next words carefully.”

“We are Khajiit! We are the children of Alkosh, the daughters and sons of Jone and Jode! We do not run, even from Dragons!"

“Khamira…” Gharesh-ri tried one last time to implore her. 

She spared him a glance before looking over at the remaining army. “Stand with me, people of Anequina! For I am Khamira, daughter of King Hemakar! I am your queen!"

A murmur spread through the crowd. Imogen noted that even Tharn looked surprised. 

The ground rumbled again as the green Dragon laughed. “Bahlokdaan! Prove your worth. Destroy these paltry insects!" With that, he pushed himself off the temple, chunks of the building’s roof cracking and crumbling under his weight. One of the smaller Dragons, a darker shade of green, broke from the circle, heading for the main courtyard as the others few off. He opened his mouth, and with a loud, thundering voice, sent a stream of fire along the perimeter of the courtyard. The initials flames drove people back, the heat intense. Tufts of grass and a few boxes caught aflame, burning brightly against the night sky. 

“Where is Kalo?” Imogen whispered though she was not heard over the Dragon’s loud roaring. No one needed to, for Imogen found the answer herself. While the rest of the army had retreated, her brother remained squarely in place in the town plaza, his sword cast aside next to him. Even when the beast had attacked, he hadn’t moved from his spot. Though she could not see his face, Imogen recognized that look. She had felt it too many times not to know what it looked like.

“Kalo!” She cried out to him, but she knew it wasn’t going to work. Pushing off the dirt, she took off toward him. Her ears were deaf. Her eyes were blind. All she could focus on where the What Ifs. What if what if what if. She pictured him in her arms, limp and pale. She saw her mother crying, something her mother never did. What if what if what if what if

She tackled him to the ground before the next blast of fire came. The ward that surrounded them was big enough to protect them but small enough that Imogen could feel the heat of those flames. As the Dragon passed the circle around, Imogen jumped up and pulled Kalo to his feet. While the initial shock wore off, she could still see the panic in his eyes, the heaving of his chest. 

“Get to safety, Kalo,” she commanded in as calm a voice as she could muster, pushing him away from the center of the courtyard and towards the others. 

Kalo mouth opened and closed a few times before he swallowed. “But what about…”

Glancing up, Imogen saw the dragon had turned around and was heading back to them. She pressed a quick kiss to Kalo’s temple before shoving him toward the group. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have been able to budge him, but he was caught off guard. He stumbled back into Nala-do, who was busy helping Khamira load the ballista. Imogen threw up another ward just as the Dragon attacked, this time not with flames but with a powerful blast of wind that dragged Imogen a few feet from her standing point. 

Into the air went a bolt from the ballista, but it missed the target. Khamira cursed and jumped down, helping Nala-do get the next bolt loaded. As the Dragon circled back, Khamira shot another bolt. This one grazed the beast’s face, a trickle of blood raining down on the field. Quickly, they reloaded yet again. Just as the next bolt was released, Imogen shot a chunk of ice in the way of the Dragon’s path. It wasn’t enough to hurt it, but it caused the Dragon to pause just long enough for the bolt to pierce its wing. Down it came, landing inches away from where Imogen stood. 

There were cheers the moment it landed, but Imogen was still on edge. She started hurling chunk after chunk of ice at the thing. They crashed against the beast’s thick skin like snowballs against a wall. It snapped its jaws at her, making her yelp and take a step back. 

“Archers,” she heard Khamira shout. “Fire! Show the Dragon no mercy.”

In a flash, arrows rained down on the Dragon. Imogen took another step back to avoid the shower. A few bounced off the skin, but some stuck like harpoons. The Dragon flapped its undamaged wing at the archers, kicking up dust and debris. 

She needed something stronger. She needed to be stronger. 

Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted Kalo’s discarded sword still lying in the dirt. She didn’t know how to use a sword, but perhaps…

What if what if what if

As the archers regained their footing, Imogen ran for the sword, scooping it up as the Dragon blew its fire yet again. She was surprised by the weight of the sword; how did her brother carry it all the time? The arrows flew through the air once more. Once the Dragon paused his attack, Imogen dug her feet into the ground and pointed the blade at it. The blade wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. Focusing, she pulled the blade back before thrusting it out again. She was nowhere near the beast. Any swordsman would have thought her mad. But she wasn’t trying to hit the Dragon with the blade. 

She was trying to hit it with the ice that would spring from it. 

Since it wasn’t a staff, the sword wasn’t designed to harness her Magicka well, but it was a good enough substitute. It gave her ice shards the extra push they needed to pierce the Dragon’s skin. A few hits to its face and sides, more blood sprayed out. The arrows pelting its sides. It was getting angrier. It went to snap at Imogen again. She held her ground, pulling the sword back and charged her shot as long as she could. When the Dragon’s jaws were inches away, she sent the shard flying straight into its mouth. The Dragon let out a strangled gurgle as the shard exited through the other side of its neck. Imogen stood in shock as she watched it recoil, watched the blood pour from its neck and mouth. It lunged to snap at her again, but it staggered and let out a meek roar before finally

It fell

And it didn’t get up. 

Imogen stared at it as she dropped the sword. She could hear the cheers of some of the soldiers, heard some of them approach her as they celebrated. It was a good thing they did, too, for she started to buckle to the ground. Captain Nala-do caught her. 

“You did it!” she exclaimed as she led the girl back to the group. Khamira smiled, jogging out to join them. 

“I underestimated you,” Khamira admitted. “Well fought! You have shown that we will not run. Not even from a Dragon!” She turned toward the other Khajiits. “Soon Rimmen and all of Anequina will once again belong to us! The reign of the Usurper Queen nears its end. On this, I give you my word as the heir of Anequina, the daughter of King Hemakar, and the true queen of Rimmen!"

The army cheered again. Nala-do raised an arm. “All hail Queen Khamira!”

Even Gharesh-ri nodded toward Khamira. But as the cheering settled down, he cleared his throat. “We have plans to make! War council, with me!”

Without argument, Khamira followed Gharesh-ri into the hall, the Khajiit excitedly talking as she did. 

Tharn looked over at Nala-do. “The Speaker is correct. There's still work to do.” With his head, he gestured to Imogen. “Get her to a healer.”

Imogen sagged more in Nala-do’s grip, her eyes fluttering closed. “This one will take good care of the Dragonslayer,” the captain beamed. 

Tharn sneered. “Don’t call her that.” As Nala-do and a few others led Imogen away, he looked to the boy sitting silently on the ground, his head stooped over. He nudged him with his foot. “The Speaker has called a meeting. You should join.”

Kalo didn’t speak. He didn’t move either. With a sigh, Tharn placed a hand on the boy’s head. He let it rest there for a moment before patting him. That seemed to get Kalo’s attention. He looked up at Tharn. Without another word, Tharn gestured with this head toward the hall. Slowly, Kalo got up and followed him inside. 

~.~

Magic takes a toll on the body. There's always a cost.

She felt that now, more than ever.

Lying on the cot, Imogen drifted in and out and in and out. She would hear voices, see figures. She knew her brother was there at some point. She knew he didn’t say anything, just sat there. Khamira came in too, she thinks. She recalled being thanked and “You helped give my people hope.” 

She wasn’t sure what parts were real and which were dreams. She recalled Tharn being there at some point, but that’s where she cannot tell. 

From what she remembered, he sat beside her. “You killed a Dragon,” he said, always straight to business. “Impressive, but don't let it go to your head. It was just one, and not even that large of a specimen.”

Her eyes were closed, but even if they were open, she wouldn’t have seen him. She had a wet rag covering her forehead. She never realized how bad of a headache exhausting her Magicka could cause. She shifted her head toward him. “Why didn’t you help me?”

"I had every faith in your ability to handle the situation. There was no need to intervene and tarnish your moment of glory.”

“It probably would have ended faster if you had,” she whispered. 

“More than likely,” Tharn snorted. “But my considerable strategic skills serve the Khajiiti cause better than my battle magic. I leave the mayhem to you and your brother."

She frowned. “Is he okay?”

Despite the vagueness of the question, he understood what she meant. “He’s uncharacteristically quiet. I believe he is angry at himself for freezing when the Dragon attacked. He let his moment of honor pass him by.” 

He got up to leave. “Get some rest. We still have a war to fight, and if you think this will get you out of it, you’re mistaken.”

Before he could turn, Imogen grabbed his arm, surprisingly well for someone who couldn’t see. “Wait, wait, before...when we...the parley...you said your sister couldn’t resist...do you think I’m pretty?” As the words jumbled out of her mouth, even she knew she was pathetic. 

She could practically feel Tharn’s eyes roll. “Well, I’m glad you have your priorities straight. Is that really what’s on your mind right now, whether or not I think you’re pretty?” An exasperated sigh. “I swear, I will never understand…”

Imogen still held onto his arm, but she kept quiet. She felt him shift out of her grasp and then something on the center of her forehead where the sapphire of her circlet would be. But her circlet was off, resting on a box near the cot (she almost panicked when she first felt it off.) After a moment where neither of them spoke, the sensation was gone. She heard Tharn straighten up.

“As I said, get some rest. We must strike at Rimmen and remove my half-sister from the throne before she rallies her forces, and I’d rather you not be dead before that.”

She heard him depart through the flaps of the tent. That was hours ago. Or maybe just minutes. She was uncertain. It didn’t matter. She kept placing her fingers on her forehead, trying to feel if something was there.

Maybe it wasn’t

But what if what if


	6. Stubborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! This one takes place during the main story line of the main game!

If one were to ask Kalo to describe himself, he would use flouncy adjectives such as heroic, valiant, courageous, determined. If one were to ask his sister, the first word out of her mouth would be stubborn. 

Kalo wouldn’t call himself stubborn. It was too hostile a word. Too negative. Sure, once he had an idea, he just had to follow through with it, but he wouldn’t call that stubborn. Maybe more...tenacious. Or even steadfast. But not stubborn. 

Was it stubborn of him when he forced both Lyris and Tharn to join him in the Halls of Torment? He didn’t think so. When the Prophet told him to just choose one or the other, he was appalled. 

“What surprisingly good advice,” Tharn said. “Titanborn and I are more likely to kill each other than we are to help.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Lyris looked away. “Surprisingly, I agree with you.”

Kalo, meanwhile, threw up his arms. “Are you kidding me? I’m not going to choose between you two.”

Tharn rolled his eyes. Lyris scowled. “Well, unless you want to watch me punch Tharn in the teeth,” she said, eyeing the battlemage. “Again.”

Frowning, Kalo placed his hands on his hips. “Oh, stop it, both of you. This is stupid! I mean, if you two can’t put your differences aside for one lousy trip to Coldharbour…”

“ _ I _ can,” Tharn insisted, glaring at Lyris. “It’s your towering behemoth of a pet that can’t keep her temper in check.”

Lyris looked as if she were going to reply, but Kalo cut her off. “Varen said I got to choose who I bring with me to get Sai. Therefore, I choose to bring _both_ of you, whether you like it or not, so deal with it and shut the fuck up.”

Setting his jaw, Tharn glared at the boy. To be ordered around by a mere child… “Fine, fine, if it gets us closer to stopping Mannimarco…”

Lyris gritted her teeth. “I don’t like it, but…” she sighed. “I’ll do it for Sai. And for you, Kalo.”

Beaming, Kalo pumped his fist in the air. “Victory! Let’s go save us a swordmaster!"

Behind them, Varen sighed as he opened the portal to The Halls of Torment. “The portal will deliver you into the Halls of Torment. Find Sai Sahan and bring him out. He is our last, best hope if we are to locate the Amulet of Kings." 

As the trio stepped into the portal, Kalo swore he heard the old man mumble something about hoping Kalo knew what he was doing. 

Kalo knew exactly what he was doing. He was saving Sai Sahan from the grips of Mannimarco so they could find the Amulet of Kings and stop Molag Bal. Easy Peasy. 

Though he had traveled by portal quite a few times by now, he blinked back the disorientation that seemed to linger after the portal spat them out. Lyris closed her eyes for a moment but otherwise seemed fine. Tharn looked completed undisturbed. 

Lyris was the first to speak, glancing around the stone walls. “I heard about this place when I was a prisoner in Coldharbour. It's a living nightmare. Be ready for anything."

“Indeed,” Tharn added, taking a few steps forward. “Coldharbour's most nefarious prison. The Daedra in the Halls of Torment reach deep into the dark places of a prisoner's mind and torture them with apparitions of the things they most dread."

Unsheathing his sword, Kalo bounced on his feet. “Well, then, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Before either adult could respond, Kalo darted off passed them. Lyris and Tharn shared a look before remembering they were supposed to hate each other. Quickly, they ran after the boy. Down the long hallway, Kalo slowed to a walk. He turned his head, trying to listen carefully. “Tharn?”

“What?” the battlemage replied, exasperated. 

Kalo looked behind him at the older Imperial. “I thought I heard you. But from over there.” He pointed down the hall. 

Trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes for the nth time, Tharn moved to where Kalo stood. Lyris followed suit, making sure to stay on the other side of the boy and not next to Tharn. 

"Becoming a sword-singer is child's play, Sai,” they heard coming from the end of the hall. “I mastered it in an afternoon. Here, let me show you."

A loud WHACK! followed by a terrible scream. 

Lyris scowled. “That WAS Tharn’s voice.” Another WHACK! and scream set Lyris off running toward the sound. Kalo was quick to follow.

“What in damnation is going on here?” Tharn muttered before begrudgingly running after them. 

The hallway gave to a rather large, torch-lit room with towering walls. In the center of the room, a Redguard kneeled, his arms stretched behind him, bond by glowing chains. Kalo recognized him instantly from the visions Varen had shared with him. Their “damsel” in distress. And before him was unmistakenly Abnur Tharn, a searing red sword in his grasp, and a nasty smirk on his face. 

"Where is the Amulet of Kings?” The Tharn demanded, pressing the tip of the sword against Sai Sahan’s chest. “Tell me, or I'll gut you like a fish with your own sword!"

“You bastard!” Lyris spat, charging at the Tharn with her axe brandished. 

Kalo started to follow but paused to look back at their Tharn. “Er, stay here or I might accidentally swing at you.” 

This time, Tharn didn’t bother to hold back his eye roll. But he did as the boy asked and watched from the sidelines with his arms cross as his “companions” attacked his doppelganger. He had to admit, it was certainly interesting to watch the two of them combat against him, though he was appalled the clone would use a sword. As if Abnur Tharn would ever resort to physical combat. He had others to do that for him. 

It didn’t take long for Kalo and Lyris to bring the Tharn down to size. When its body fell, however, it vanished, and so did Sai. 

** _~How touching!~_ ** they heard a female-sounding voice vibrate through the air.  ** _~Your friends are here to save you. Pity they arrived too late. It's time for your next round of torture. You'll enjoy this one~_ **

Lyris slammed her axe down on the rock that Sai had been chained to. “Sai was right here. We had him! We were so close."

Kalo tilted his head. “Why did that thing look like Tharn?”

Tharn opened his mouth to speak, but Lyris beat him to the punch, glaring at the old man. “Tharn was always mocking Sai. Making jokes at his expense. Sai never responded, but I know it hurt him deeply. The Daedra must have sensed that.”

“Oh please,” Tharn scoffed, stepping closer to the two warriors. “We're adults, aren't we?”

“I’m wondering that,” Kalo muttered at the two adults glared at each other. 

Sparing the boy a glance, Tharn sighed. “In truth, I enjoyed mocking him. I had no idea how deeply it affected him. But we’re wasting time talking about it.”

Thrusting his sword in the air, Kalo dashed off the next hallway. Lyris quickly pulled her axe out of the stone. “He’s got spirit, I’ll give him that.”

“It’ll get him killed...again,” was Tharn’s only reply before they made their way down the hall. 

This time, as Kalo made his way down the hall, when he started hearing voices, it didn’t confuse him as much. There was already a Tharn copy; hearing Lyris’ voice from up ahead wasn’t surprising. He crouched by the entranceway of yet another rather large room, this one bathed in a savory red, the lighting dim. As he squinted to see better, his companions finally caught up. While they didn’t crouch down like him, they did linger by the doorway, trying to assess the scene. 

“Sai, my love. Where is the Amulet?” a breathy voice echoed off the walls. Kalo tilted his head at the scene before him. In the center of the room were pillows and candles and flowers...and a bound Sai Sahan with a Lyris draped over him. 

“Oh my,” Tharn chuckled before placing a hand over Kalo’s eyes. “I think  _ you _ need to sit this one out. You’re much too young for this.”

Lyris smacked his forearm, her face turning red. The Lyris copy reached out for Sai’s face. “If you tell me, this will all be over and we can finally be together."

As Kalo removed Tharn’s hands, Tharn sneered at Lyris. “There must be something wrong with Sahan’s memory; your copy is much too attractive.”

Her fingers turned white as she gripped her axe tighter. “When I'm finished with her, she won't resemble me in the slightest!"

Standing up, Kalo brandished his sword. “We get the shield-thing down, and then we can take down that bitch...sorry Lyri.”

With the three of them, taking down the shield was easy work. The Lyris doppelganger, however, was another story completely. It moved rather fast and used dark magic to defend itself, a fact Tharn found rather ironic. Perhaps the Daedra couldn’t sort through memories as well as they thought. Whatever the case was, the three of them eventually brought the clone to its knees. Instead of disappearing like before, it warped into a hideous creature with feminine features. 

The creature snarled.  ** _~Too late, once again.~_ ** it said. With a snap of its fingers, it turned into flames and vanished, and so did Sahan.  ** _~Come, my pet. Time for your next session!~_ **

The three were left panting. Composing himself, Tharn brushed his hands together. “Who knew that in the solitude of his own bedchamber, Sahan dreams of large women?"

Lyris chucked her axe at him but he ducked just in time. Kalo furrowed his brows.”What do you mean?”

“Are you as blind as your vagabond emperor?” Tharn scoffed. “The first room was about Sai's failures. This room is obviously an attempt to leverage his subconscious desires.” He fixed Lyris with a rather mocking smile. “Our Redguard friend has a secret crush on our half-giant. How revolting.”

“Shut up, Tharn!” Lyris spat, mad her axe was on the opposite side of the room. She did still have her fist, however. “Sai and I are friends! Good friends. Nothing more!"

Kalo gave Lyris a sheepish grin. “Well, I mean, it DID looks like-”

“Our friendship is based on honor and loyalty,” she insisted. “Not foolish games of love!”

Holding up his hands, Kalo kept quiet. Tharn, however, didn’t. He sauntered over to where Lyris’ axe had landed, picking it up as if it were a diseased rodent. “Obviously not. You have all the emotional depth of a Frost Atronach, Titanborn. But you can wrestle with this newfound personal conflict later. We have a Daedra to catch.”

He held the axe out to her. Setting her jaw, she snatched it from his hands. Kalo gave the two of them a toothy grin. “See, teamwork.”

They both ignored the boy. This time, all three of them ran down the third hallway. None of them were surprised by what lay in wait at the end of it. A third, even larger room. Or rather a balcony that seemed to overlook more of Coldharbour in all its glory. Once again, Sai Sahan stood bound in the center of the room, this time surrounded by several Varen Aquilarioses.

“How come he gets multiple copies?” Kalo asked as one of the Varen duplicates berated Sai for not protecting him. 

He didn’t wait for an answer, however. Instead, he charged at the closest Varen he could find. The duplicate vanished, causing Kalo to stumble. In a flash, all of the Varens disappeared, and the vile Daedra took their place. 

** _~Who dares to defy the Duchess of Anguish?~ _ ** it bellowed, towering over Kalo.  ** _~What death do you prefer, mortal? Slow and painful, or quick and painful?~_ **

“Apparently painful,” Kalo muttered as he jumped to his feet and swung his blade at the Daedra. It stepped back in time and unleashed a blast that sent Kalo flying back a few feet. He landed by his companions with a thud. “Uh, guys?” he grunted. “Teamwork?”

“With pleasure,” Lyris said, tightening the grip on her axe. Tharn held out his staff in reply. With a smile, Kalo got to his feet before he and Lyris charged together.

~.~

Varen was sitting in his chair as the group tumbled through the portal, his staff resting on his lap. He had felt something coming, but he wasn’t sure what. At the arrival of his compatriots, he felt more at ease. Perhaps it was just them he felt. He got to his feet to greet them. 

"Sai Sahan lives! You've outdone yourself, everyone." 

While Tharn dusted himself off, he moved to the side so Lyris could help the weakened Sai to a resting spot. "Sahan looks relatively healthy, but there's no telling whats sort of toll years of torment will take upon the mind. It will be interesting to see.”

“Shut up, Tharn,” Lyris hissed as she helped Sai to the ground. 

With a grunt, the Redguard looked up at Kalo, who rocked on his feet. The boy acted as if he still had energy to spare. “I owe you my life.”

Waving a hand, Kalo beamed. “Don’t even worry about it. It’s what I do.”

Sai shook his head. “My people say that bravery and honor are the hallmarks of a great soul, and you have both of those things in great measure.”

The boy’s smile grew, and there was even a faint tint of pink on his cheeks. “Oh, stop. I just did what any decent person would have done.”

With a smile, Lyris glanced at Tharn. “Hear that, Tharn? A decent person would have done it.” 

“It’s a shame I’m not a decent person, Titanborn,” he clicked his tongue. “Otherwise I would have kept quiet during that charming little scene we saw earlier.”

Both Lyris’ and Sai’s faces turned red, though Lyris gnashed her teeth. She opened her mouth to respond with some rather choice words, but the voice that was heard was not hers. 

“KALO LUVARUS ARRIGESTO FIDELE!” 

The smile immediately vanished from the boy’s face, replaced with pure terror as he dove to hide behind Lyris. While confused, Lyris tensed. Kalo hadn’t looked so scared since she first met him in Coldharbour. Whatever was coming must be truly frightful. She was surprised to see a young woman stomp toward them, her countenance fixed with the scowl of a thousand mothers. 

“Where have you been?!” the woman shouted, arms akimbo as she glared toward where Kalo hid. “I have been worried sick!”

Sheepishly, Kalo peeked from behind Lyris but made no move to leave his human shield. “Oh, hey! Uh, how did you find me?”

Holding up a sock in one hand, she glared. “Clairvoyance spell. Locked onto your essence. Took longer to do than it should have. Now, are you going to explain yourself, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

Lyris looked between the two. “Who are you?”

As if she just noticed her, Imogen flinched, but her face hardened. “Th-that’s none of your concern! I’m...I should be asking you the same thing!”

With his hands up, Kalo rounded Lyris. “It’s okay, Immy, these are my friends.” He looked back at Lyris. “Lyris, this is my older sister, Imogen.”

Imogen’s body seemed to relax, but she still held her stormy glare. “Kalo...you’ve been missing for three weeks. What have...what have you been doing? I’ve been worried sick and you’re just been here with these...people…” Her voice trailed off as she really got a look at the people around her. Her eyes fixed on Tharn and the anger subsided.

He cocked a brow at her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Ch-Chancellor!” she breathed. “I...you...I thought you were dead…” Before he could properly react, she threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly as if he might disappear. “I haven’t...I haven’t seen anyone from court since…”

Surprisingly, Tharn didn’t push the girl away. He patted one of her arms. “You thought me dead? You think a war and Daedric invasion could do me in?” 

As his sister pulled away, Kalo looked from one to the other, brows furrowed. “How do you two know each other?”

Imogen fixed her brother an equally confused look. “How do you not? He’s...oh,” she sighed. “You wouldn’t have met him yet. You never went to court. He’s the Grand-.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kalo interrupted, holding his hands up. “Grand Chancellor, Imperial Battlemage, I got it. He said it, like, three times when I met him.”

Lyris couldn’t help but interject. “What is going on?”

Imogen frowned. “That’s what I want to know.” She looked to Tharn. “Why are you here? Why are you working with my brother?” She looked to Lyris, Sai, and Varen. “And who are you people? This...this isn’t just some odd job, is it?”

Before anyone else could answer, Kalo piped up. “It’s a long story, Immy, but these guys need me to save the world! Together, we’re going to stop Molag Bal from taking over Tamriel, or my name isn’t Kalo the Vestige!”

Imogen blinked. “...Vestige?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of, like, my title.”

“...Kalo, vestige means remnant or trace of something that’s gone. Why...why would that be your title?”

His face fell. “...it does?”

She nods. “What aren’t you telling me?”

With a loud sigh, Tharn shook his head. “Your brother was sacrificed in a necromantic ritual and sent to Coldharbour. He was able to escape but his soul remains trapped in limbo. That’s why these fools insist on calling him Vestige as if it were a badge of honor.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire in the corner crackling. Kalo cringed. Imogen’s face paled. “...what.”

“It’s okay!” Kalo waved his hands frantically. “I’m okay! See, I’m all corporeal and everything!” He began to poke various parts of his body. 

This didn’t seem to comfort his sister. Lyris placed a hand on Kalo’s shoulder. “We’re working on getting his soul back. In order to do that, though, we have to face Molag Bal.”

“Read the situation, Titanborn,” Tharn tsked. “That’s not helping.”

“Your brother is a valiant warrior,” Sai chimed from his spot on the floor, which surprised everyone. By this point, the companions assumed he had fallen asleep. “He saved me from the grips of Coldharbour. I had begun to think that honor was a relic of the past. Your brother gives me hope."

Her head spinning, Imogen fixed her gaze at her brother, who just gave her a weak smile. “It’s okay, Immy,” he said gently. “I promise.”

A silence fell over them all as Imogen’s eyes began to haze over. Tharn broke the silence. “Well, Sahan seems relatively unharmed,” he clapped his hands together. “Can we wrap this up then? I've an appointment with a certain young lady and I need to stop by the moneychangers first. Women of that stripe seldom do anything on credit." He paused, giving Imogen a once-over. “Unless you’re available.”

It was at that moment Imogen realized how she was dressed, her dress reaching just below her knees, bodice tight around her bust, cut just low enough to give a glimpse of what it hid. Her face reddened. “It’s...I clean floors!”

He cocked a brow, giving the dress another once-over. 

“I mean it!” 

“Oh!” Kalo chimed. “He thinks your a prostit-”

“KALO!” Imogen yelped, and for some reason, she smacked Tharn’s forearm with a crack that echoed off the walls. 

“I’m only teasing,” Tharn tutted. “No need to get so defensive. But whatever your job is, you should quit it. It is too beneath you. Besides,” he fixed her an even look. “I might have work for you. We’re up against a rather puissant Necromancer. Have you been keeping to your studies?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she frowned. “I...a little. With what I can find.” 

“Good,” he nodded, placing his hands behind his back as he began to saunter off. “Then I’ll see you at the mage’s guildhall tomorrow morning. We have much to do.” 

Kalo looked to Imogen. “...puissant?”

She shook her head, still holding herself tightly as she looked at her brother's friends. “I’m...I’m still not sure if...if I’m okay with all this,” she gestured to them all. “But...I know my brother. Once he gets an idea in his head, there’s no convincing him otherwise. But...do you really need him? He’s just a boy?”

“I’m right here,” Kalo frowned. 

Varen, who had been silently listening to the conversation, nodded. “The Scrolls revealed to me that your brother’s destiny is intertwined with that of the Five Companions. It is he who is key to the reversal of our fortune."

“Just think, Immy,” Kalo beamed. “We might be able to go home.”

Imogen paused. “...very well. If that’s the case, then I shall help as I can. Now, Kalo, will you please...come back to the inn with me?” 

He looked down at the ground. "Yeah, I'll meet you there. I promise."

She studied him for a moment before nodding and making her way out of the cave. Shifting, Sai grunted. "The path ahead of us is a dark one, but it pleases me to know that I shall walk that path with friends. May we all rest a little easier tonight. I know I shall."

Lyris tilted her head at Kalo. "You never mentioned having a sister."

"Never came up," Kalo shrugged. 

"But why have you been staying here? She said you've been away for a while."

Kalo sighed. "I didn't want her to know that I died. She would have blamed herself."

She furrowed a brow. "And hiding in a cave was better?"

With a small smile, he started skipping toward the cave front. "What can I say? After the first week, I couldn't figure out a good excuse, so I just stayed."

With a deep sigh, Varen shook his head. "When Sai Sahan has recovered, you must accompany him on a journey to retrieve the amulet. I will contact you as soon as he is ready to travel."

Chuckling, Lyris looked over her shoulder at Varen. "I think he 's gone."

Sai moved to lie on the ground. "The boy has valor, but are you sure he is up to the task, my Lord?"

Digging his staff into the ground, Varen lowered his head "I have faith in the boy. The scrolls foretold of his actions. And even if they didn't," he sighed again. "I don't think I could stop him."


	7. Necromancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took me longer than I wanted to due to some fun back pain and anxiety I've been experiencing. I'm bit of a hypochondriac, so I'm trying to convince myself that I'm not dying. It's been fun.  
Also, side note, I haven't played Dragonhold yet, but I spoiled it for myself. So like...shush. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Retracing her memory, Imogen couldn’t recall a time she felt so weak. She remembered being sick shortly after her mother’s death, a malaise that seemed to come from nowhere. She had lain in bed for days, her body seemingly shutting itself down. There was no fever or cough, just utter weakness, a pressure that tied her to the bed. She couldn’t remember how long she was sick or when exactly she got better. She just remembered hearing her little brother, only three at the time, crying about something, and she was finally able to get out of bed. 

That’s probably the closest feeling she could think of that matched how she felt lying in the tent. She had been drifting in and out of sleep for two days. On the third day, she was finally able to stay awake, but her body was sore. Her back and shoulders were aching from lying so still, but any time she tried to sit up or shift, her arms would shake and give way. Occasionally, a healer would visit and help her sit, but with all the other wounded from the fight, there weren't many healers to go around. Imogen usually sent them away, begging them to take care of someone who might need their help more than her. After all, Tharn said she mostly just needed rest and water. 

“A combination of the amount of Magicka you used up,” he had said to her, “And the fact that you’ve been running around in the Elsweyr sun. Face it, Imogen, you said it yourself; you’re no soldier. This isn’t a lifestyle you’re used to.”

It made her feel pathetic, but she knew Tharn was right. He usually was. 

As she was lying in bed, he and her brother were hard at work preparing for an attack on Rimmen. There wasn’t much she could do as she was, but she still felt the need to do something. The flaps of the tent were tied open to let in a breeze. She watched the Khajiit outside rebuild the town. As she did, she kept playing back that nightmare of a night, the attack, the Dragon. She honestly couldn’t remember much about the Dragon. All accounts told to her said that she fought valiantly and saved them from the beast, but she hardly believed it. It was all such a blur to her. 

Her mind kept returning to the Necromancer, Zumog Phoom. His putrid snarl, the way his tusks made his smile seem all the more dangerous, the way he killed his own men with just a flick of the wrist...it all made her stomach churn. She though Mannimarco was bad, but this Orc made Mannimarco look like a child on a powertrip, at least to Imogen anyway.

She tried to shift on the bed to no avail. Her thoughts were making her more uncomfortable than the bed was. Tharn seemed to believe she would be able to handle the Necromancer. To her, it seemed that he would know more than she did. After all, he was the one who had helped her start her journey into that gruesome field. Had she realized that he would have encouraged her, she might not have ever asked for his help in the first place.

~.~

Imogen was about 20 or so at the time. It was a rather rainy Spring week in Cyrodiil. That was why Imogen had been attending to her studies in the White-Gold Tower rather than outside. Certainly, that was the only reason, she asserted to herself. And it was much nicer studying there than, say, her bedroom or even the library. And she certainly wasn’t loitering in the halls hoping for a fleeting glimpse of the Chancellor, certainly not. After all, while she had the privilege to certain areas of the tower, she was barred from many areas, and he was assuredly in those areas. The entire week, Imogen saw him twice, just in passing. The one time he didn’t even see her, which was fine since, certainly, Imogen wasn’t there for him. 

Certainly.

That fateful day, she seated herself upon a windowsill in some lonely hallway. Her book was open, but she paid more attention to the rain outside than to the words on the page. In truth, she had read the book about three times already, hoping each time to get new insight, but the words never changed, never spoke to her in the way she was hoping they would. She would have to return it to the library and try another, though she had tried almost all of the books she could find and still couldn’t find what she had been looking for. A low rumble of thunder rolled by. With a sigh, Imogen looked down at her book and turned the page. 

“The guards don’t like it when you sit there.” The voice startled her more than the thunder did. She almost lost her balance on the windowsill, but she was quickly able to compose herself. She blinked as she found Tharn watching her. He and a few statesmen she recognized and a few other men she didn’t know were exiting the unassuming door across from her. Some of the men nodded to Tharn as they made their way down the hall. She had thought the door to lead to a broom closet or cellar. Just what were they all doing in there?

The question must have been on her face because Tharn gave her a steady glance that said  _ we might be cordial but there are things you shouldn’t ask me. _ She kept the question to herself. 

“Oh, uh, sorry,” she glanced around. “Should I get down?”

“I’m not a guard,” was his only reply to that before he gestured to her book. “What are you studying today? Have you applied to the University yet?”

Unsure of how to answer both questions, she handed the book to him. “No, not yet. I’m...I’m working on it.”

Taking the book, Tharn gave it a cursory glance. “Meaning Leondas is still against it.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “Father wants me to go into politics. Be an assistant or scrivener or something of the like.”

Tharn gave her a meaningful look. “Don’t go into politics. You’d be eaten alive.”

Most might take it as an insult, but Imogen laughed. “I’m well aware of that, Chancellor. It’s not what I want to do anyway.”

“And what do you want to do? Healing?” He handed the book back to her. 

It was a good guess since the book she was currently studying was on Restoration. Biting her lip, she shook her head. “No, I’m not...I’m not quite sure what I want to do yet. I was just looking into something. I had...I had read somewhere of people...reattaching severed limbs, sometimes long after they were separated. It was in a book like this, about Restoration. But...” her eyes looked elsewhere. “I didn’t think that could be. How could one use magic like that? It seemed far fetched. In fact, I haven’t, well, I haven’t been able to find anything about it since.” 

She risked looking up at Tharn. His expression was unreadable, which worried Imogen. If she couldn’t read his expression, how was she supposed to know how to act? 

She pressed further. “Have you ever heard of-”

“I have,” was his simple reply. 

Without meaning to, she had unwittingly backed herself into a corner by sitting at the window. She stared down at the book in her lap, her mind reeling. Should she press further? Did she trust him enough to ask? 

Gnawing on her bottom lip, she tried. “Chancellor...what do you know…about Necromancy?”

There was a pause. “What do  _ you  _ know of it?” he asked. 

Imogen tightened her grasp on the book, studying each crack in the binding. “I...I know it’s not entirely illegal but that it’s heavily frowned upon, especially in Cyrodiil.”

Again, a pause. Imogen could see his body twist about as if checking the halls. He leaned closer to her. “And why the sudden curiosity, hm?”

If she leaned further back, the window might have given way. Her teeth tore a piece of skin from off her lip. She could taste a droplet of blood, but she ignored it. “I...I found some of my mother’s old things,” she whispered. “Under the floorboards. I...there was a box with strange markings on it. I couldn’t get it open though there’s no lock. I…” She shifted in her seat. “That necromancer who was on trial a few weeks ago...he had the same sort of markings on his arm. I…”

She trailed off, unsure of where to go. Unsure if she said too much. As she licked the bloodlet off her lip, she waited for the beratement, for him to drag her to the gallows himself. The silence was deafening. 

“Look at me while I speak to you,” Tharn said evenly. “When you look down, you come off as dishonest.”

Taking a shaky breath, Imogen raised her head and searched his face. Again, she couldn’t read it. His eyes darted about her face as if looking for something, but when he spoke again, his eyes bore into hers. 

“Listen carefully to me,” he spoke in a low voice. “You are correct when you say that Necromancy isn’t technically illegal, but much of its practice is. It is called the Dark Practice for a reason. Now, some say it is nothing more than a subset of Conjuration, a noble school tainted by the few rotten apples in the bunch, but in reality, it is the manipulation of the souls of mortals, of sentient people seeking rest.” Though he was not speaking harshly, Imogen still felt chided. She tried to look away, but Tharn swiftly grabbed hold of her jaw, holding her head firmly in place. “Many go mad from studying it. Few come out of it unscathed. It is not a passing fancy for a cosseted little girl who wants to bring her dead mother back to life.”

Surely he had to feel her shaking in his grasp. “I’m...I’m not trying to-”

“Good, because you never will. Do you understand that, Imogen? You will never bring her back. Even if you somehow did manage to master that art, the being that would be standing before you would not be your mother. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes…”

“ _ Do  _ you?”

“Please!” she pleaded, her voice shaking. “My mother...she valued life above all things. Tried to, to instill in me not to squander my life. Used to, to say that through the dead we could understand the living. I just want to understand. I want to see, to see how my mother saw the world. I know I come off as some, some naive child, but I...I want to learn. I want to see for myself the life my mother hid from me.”

His eyes searched her face for a moment before letting her go. Again, he glanced about the hallway before quickly turning on his heels. “Follow me.”

She blinked and stared after him. After a few steps, he called over his shoulder. “Quickly, now.”

Gathering her things, she jumps off the ledge and scurried to keep up with him. He walked with purposefully, long strides through corridors Imogen had always been barred from. Guards would bow to him as they passed. They began ascending spiraling staircases. Imogen couldn’t comprehend how Tharn knew where he was going. Up a flight, down a hall, up another flight, down another hall. She glanced through a loophole and grew dizzy at the height. 

After about seven flights of stairs, they traveled down a rather quiet hallway. Tharn stopped in front of a dark oak door. Using a key that was tied tightly around his wrist, he unlocked the tumbler. Then, he waved his hand around the knob in a sort of pattern, a soft purple glow emanating. A physical lock and a magical one. Finally, he pushed open the door, stepping aside slightly to let Imogen pass. She wanted to shake her head and run down the hall, but by this point, she had no idea where she even was. Bracing herself, she entered. 

The room was dark until the torches on the wall suddenly came to life. It took Imogen a moment to realize he must have lit them when he came in, or perhaps they were enchanted to light whenever their master entered. Either way, the torches illuminated the room. A maroon rug covered most of the wooden floor, rich, expensive tapestry covered what walls were visible, but most were covered by the profusion of bookshelves that reached the ceiling, a few tables separating every couple of shelves. Toward the back center of the room was a rather ornate desk with intricate patterned etched in the wood. Scrolls, books, and maps of all sorts were on the tables and the desk alike. 

“Y-your office?” Imogen guessed. It seemed so far away from the other royal offices. 

He nodded and hummed in response as he carefully closed the door, locking it with the key before crossing the room, passed the desk. Against the far wall was a cabinet. Just like with the door, he waved his hand in front of it, albeit is a different pattern than the door, Imogen noted. Inside was empty. 

As Imogen inched closer to him, Tharn pushed on the backing of the cabinet. It slid open. Imogen wasn’t surprised to see a hidden passage in Tharn’s office. It just made sense to her. It wasn’t much of a passage, though. More like a closet. Only as wide as the cabinet itself and about six feet deep. Books and scrolls filled most of the space. 

“You are to tell no one of this,” he commanded, rummaging through the pile. “If you do, and I’ll know if you do, I won’t hesitate to personally strangle you with your entrails. Do you understand?”   
  


She swallowed. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Good,” he hummed, carrying a pile of books to a table. “These are to never leave this office. And you are never to read them while I am not here.” He plopped the books on the table with a grunt. “I’ve only dabbled in the subject myself, but I will try to answer any questions you will undeniably have.”

When he didn’t speak further, Imogen ran her fingers along the spine of the top book. All of them were unmarked, with old covers, some even falling apart. A few were bound in dark leather. Others weren’t bound at all, just papers tied together with string. Certainly not books one would find in a library. 

“I…” she furrowed her brows. “You’re...you’re trusting me with all this?”

“Trust?” he mused, scratching his chin. “I’m not sure. Truth be told, I don’t know if I fully trust most people. But I do know that I frighten you enough to make you think twice about betraying me. Necromancy is, pardon the pun, a dying art. Those who do master it tend to turn into complete monsters. But that does not mean the art itself is inherently insidious.”

Imogen’s fingers glided along the edge of the top book. As she started to lift the cover, Tharn’s hand came down atop hers. He, again, gave her a grave look. “Realize that if you pursue this, you will be opening a door that, once opened, can never be shut again. Do you understand?”   
  


Her eyes flitted from the book to his face. She shook her head. 

Nodding, he let go of her hand. “Good, you are not afraid to admit what you don’t know. A trait that isn’t common in most nobles. Hold onto that.” He started to walk toward his desk. “What I mean is that you will learn things that might disturb you, that will force you to rethink what you thought you knew. And you’ll be opening yourself up to forces you might not be able to control. Once you start down this path, however, you won’t be able to unlearn what you find out.”

As he sat down, he began leafing through the pile of papers on his desk. Imogen stared at him. She kept waiting for him to tell her this was all a joke, to tell her to leave and never come back, to give up this silly idea. But he didn’t. As if she wasn’t there, he started working. 

She must have watched him for a good five minutes, just replaying the entire encounter in her head. Finally, she turned back to the table, examining the books before her. He had given her seven to start with, but she didn’t know which one to even look at first. Closing her eyes, she let fate decide which book she chose. Once it was in her hands, she took one final glance back at Tharn, again assuming this was all some sort of trick. But again, he ignored her, his brows furrowed as he read over some docket or other. 

She opened the book, and that was that.

~.~

"Now that I have revealed my true heritage, we need to act quickly, Lord Speaker."

Leaning against the makeshift desk, Abnur Tharn nodded. “I agree with the Princess. My half-”

“Queen, Tharn,” Khamira interjected, turning to look at him fully. “I have not been a princess in a very long time."

For a moment, Tharn said nothing; he just studied Khamira’s expression. She did not glare or sneer at him like she might have when they first started working together. Her head was held high, regarding him with a countenance that dared him to argue with her.

“I stand corrected,” he said, giving her a nod. “Queen Khamira.” 

There was a shimmer of surprise in Khamira’s eyes, but she did well to hide most of it. Tharn noted it but did not comment. Instead, he pushed himself off the desk and took his usual stance, his hands behind his back as he addressed Gharesh-ri. “Lord Speaker, I agree with Queen Khamira. The time has come to remove my half-sister from the throne.”

Gharesh-ri crossed his arms and nodded. “While I wish we had more time to prepare, to recover from the attack, you are right. We cannot hold off any longer.”

“Subterfuge is called for,” Tharn stated, looking from one Khajiit to the other. “I suggest a small group. Slip into the palace, locate Euraxia, and remove her from the throne—by any means necessary.”

Khamira cocked a brow, but her face still calm. “By any means? Even if it comes to-”

“Yes,” Tharn interrupted, giving Khamira a hard stare. “If it comes to that. Euraxia conquered Rimmen without authorization. She oppressed your people, unleashed hordes of undead, made a deal with the Dragons, and worst of all continues to be an embarrassment to my family name. If we don't depose her, I hate to imagine what she'll do next."

Despite the situation, Khamira smiled at Tharn. Gharesh-ri, meanwhile, rooted through some papers on his desk. “Subterfuge...I might have something that could work to our advantage. The former custodian of the palace. He knew the place like the back of his paw. Remarkably, he survived Euraxia's conquest and the purge of the royal family.”

Khamira hummed. “Aneshi. It is good to hear he is still alive.”

The older Khajiit nodded. “He now cares for a shrine to the ancient hero, Khunzar-ri. Kalo can meet with him and…” he paused, looking about. “...where is Kalo?” 

Tharn gestured to a far corner of the room. “Still sulking like a rejected suitor.”

Indeed, Kalo was sitting in the corner on the opposite side of the room, chin in his hands. He seemed to be studying the floor, not even moving when his name was mentioned. With a sigh, Khamira started toward him. 

“Come on, Five-Claw,” she hummed. “We have a plan to dethrone Euraxia. I would be honored to have you fight by my side.”

Without moving a muscle, Kalo muttered, “You should get Imogen to do it.”

“Oh please,” Tharn huffed, but Khamira spoke over him. 

“Kalo, I have seen you fight with just as much valor as your sister did that Dragon,” she said, getting on one knee before him. “You were calm and collected in the Hall of Collolous. You fought back the undead when our camp was under siege. You kept fighting even when the outcome looked grim. You are a noble warrior.”

“If I was so noble, my sister wouldn’t have had to rescue me.”

Khamira nodded. “I understand your frustration, Five-Claw. But you cannot change what has happened. We talked about this before, yes? Spending too much time in the past keeps you from moving forward.”

“If you wish to redeem yourself,” Tharn added, leaning back against his desk. “You can’t do it by sitting there feeling sorry for yourself.”

After a moment or two, Kalo’s hands slipped away from his chin and he let his head flop down. Slowly, he got to his feet, still staring at the ground. Khamira stood up alongside him. He tapped the sides of his thighs a few times, shifted from foot to foot, before finally looking up. 

“Okay, what’s the plan?” His voice didn’t carry his usual enthusiasm, but Khamira smiled. It was a start. 

~.~

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep, but when Imogen woke up, the sun was starting to set, peeking inside the tent. With a groan, Imogen put her hands underneath her and tried to lift herself. While she was still sore, she did manage to get to a sitting position. Her body sang out its praise for finally getting to stretch in a different direction.

"So, you've finally decided to wake up."

Rolling her neck to get the kinks out, she glanced over at Tharn just as he was entering the tent. “My body is currently running the show. I can’t decide much of anything at the moment.”

He stayed by the entranceway, which was a relief for Imogen since he clocked the sun from her eyes. “I came by earlier to update you on the situation, but you were out colder than a drunken Nord in a snowstorm. Thought we’d have to burry you somewhere.”

“What is the situation then?” she asked, deciding to take a page from his book and go straight to business. After all, she had spent so much time doing nothing but thinking of what had occurred. She wanted to move forward. 

For a moment, Tharn regarded her peculiarly, but he quickly switched gears as well. “The Khajiiti Defense Force is making moves to infiltrate the Rimmen castle and dethrone my half-sister. At the moment, your brother has gone to meet an informant who may be able to give us a way to slip inside. That was this afternoon.”

“How is he?” Imogen murmured. 

“Not quite back to his usual self,” Tharn shifted on his feet. “But he’s stopped feeling sorry for himself long enough to be useful.” 

She frowned. “He’s just a boy, Chancellor. Give him some credit. He…” she trailed off as Tharn smiled. 

“I’m aware, Imogen. But he’s a boy trying to prove himself a man. I won’t let him deter himself.”

Imogen couldn’t help but stare at his lips. There was something off about the smile. Something almost disconcerting. She couldn’t place it, though. Perhaps she was still groggy from her impromptu nap. 

Crossing over the small gap between them, Tharn continued. “How soon do you expect you’ll be on your feet again?”

With a shrug, Imogen looked down at her lap. “I’m not sure. I, I still feel so weak. I…” She felt her face heat up. “You were right about the Magicka and the exhaustion, but I, er, I figured out there is a third thing. Figured it out earlier today, actually. But, um, it’s...I’m a tad sick, actually.”

Tharn stood beside the cot, raising a brow. “Sick?” he echoed before scooping up her circlet from the crate next to the cot and sitting down. He held the circlet delicately in his hands, turning it about and watching the sapphire catch the light. “What kind of illness have you contracted? If it’s serious, we might have to quarantine you from the rest of the camp. Can’t have the entire army getting sick.”

“No, no!” she rushed, waving her hands. “It’s, uh, it’s nothing so serious. It, um, no one will catch it, I swear.”

Tharn stared at the gem hard. “Ah,” he said nonchalantly, holding the circlet out to her. The smile returned, except this one appeared normal, with the usual amounts of sass and sneer. “That’s what you call it, then? Must get suspicious after a while, getting sick once every few weeks.”

Hastily, she snatched the circlet from his hands, letting her hair block her face from his view. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Of course not,” Tharn conceded as he stood up. “But you never answered my question. When can I expect you on your feet.” 

Now it was Imogen’s turn to toy with the circlet in her hands. “Do you really need me?”

“Need you?” he repeated, scratching his chin. “I don’t know if ‘need’ is the right word. But it would be useful to have another mage about. Especially when dealing with Euraxia. Most Tharns are particularly skillful castors. While the Defense Force can, presumably, defend themselves well under normal circumstances, you and I have seen first hand how they handle when confronted with a powerful mage. And besides,” he paused, cocking a brow at her. “Would you actually let your brother and I go off to battle without you? It would be uncharacteristic of you.”

Taking deeper breaths, Imogen assessed how her body felt, rolled her shoulders and twisted her back. In truth, she still felt pitiful. But like always, she knew Tharn was right. 

“A few more hours,” she finally answered. “I should...if I get something to eat and rest a bit longer, I should be able to at least walk.”

With a frown, Tharn hummed. “I suppose that will have to do. Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but...very well. I’ll see if I can delay our travel to Rimmen. Perhaps I can send the others ahead to assess the situation and we will meet them to initiate the plan. Yes, that does sound good. That’s what we’ll do. Would be better than having us all arrive at once and all getting caught.

“You focus on getting your strength back,” he continued as he headed for the entranceway. “In a few hours, we’ll leave for Rimmen.”

“I’ll do my best, Chancellor,” she murmured, as if she could control how quickly she could recover. 

“And stop sounding so defeated,” he added as he opened the flap to the tent. “You took down a blimming dragon.” With that, he left. 

Yes, she thought. She took down a dragon. Taking down a queen should be a cinch.


	8. The Road to Rimmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens, I'm sorry. Just character interactions. Been in a bit of a slump. Avoiding writing the big action scene. But I'll be working on it this week.

“You know, I  _ could  _ just teleport us there.”

As she checked her pack for the nth time, Imogen glanced at Tharn over her shoulder. He leaned against the wall of the stable, holding the reins of a Palomino. Her eyes shifted away for a moment. “Well, yes, of course, you could, but…” she risked looking at him again, hoping her smile was convincing. “You really ought to save your magic for the battle.”

He snorted as he pushed himself away from the wall. “That’s your diplomatic way of saying that you’re worried about my health and don’t want me to exert myself.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Imogen straightened up and shouldered her bag. “That isn’t what I mean at all. I know you’re more than capable of transporting us there. But we’re still blind as to what exactly we’re walking into.”

“If you insist,” Tharn grunted, patting the nose of the Palomino. The horse seemed nervous to have a new handler. Tharn stroked the mount again, a bit of calming magic trickling from his fingertips. “Though are you sure you’re up to the journey in your...condition?”

Digging a red stone out of her pocket, Imogen’s face pinkened. “I’m perfectly fine. Feeling much better.” 

In truth, Imogen wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed again, but she didn’t want to let Tharn or Kalo or Khamira or the Khajiits down. Squeezing the stone, Imogen concentrated. Shortly, her shadowy mare manifested. The red, misty horse whined and nudged her cheek, making her smile. 

“Sorry, Auferte. I’m sure you’ve been restless,” she cooed as she grabbed the reins. 

Behind her, Tharn cocked a brow at her while he mounted his horse. “Is it sentient?”

Whipping her head around, she frowned. “Of course he is!”

As she mounted her horse, Tharn nodded. “Not bad. And more stable than that bone rat of yours.” 

She blinked. “Bone...oh! Oh, you... “ she studied him. “You remember that?”

Pulling on the reins, Tharn led his horse out of the stable. “Hard to forget. If I remember correctly, you came running into my study as if you had discovered the secret of immortality. Then you dumped a skeletal rat on my desk.”

Auferte followed Tharn’s horse as they trotted out of Riverhold. “It was a mouse,” Imogen corrected. “And I was rather proud of it.”

“I suppose it was rather impressive,” Tharn glanced back. “Given the fact you had been studying Necromancy for only a few months.” 

Imogen smiled but said nothing. The fact that he had remembered her stupid little skeleton mouse was touching, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. He was correct. It had been a few months after Tharn had let Imogen read through his collection of Necromantic tomes when she came barrelling into his study. By that point, he had given her clearance to that floor (making sure to properly threaten her to not abuse that privilege) and she had memorized the way to the room. 

“Chancellor!” she had been beaming as she threw open the door. It had shocked Tharn, her blatant lack of manners. She had never entered the study without knocking before. “Chancellor, I have to show you something!”

Before Tharn had a chance to scold her, she dumped a small pile of bones onto his desk. He was quick to cover certain papers up, sensitive documents that Imogen had been too distracted to notice anyway. 

“What in damnation are you doing?”

“Look, look!” she breathlessly whispered as she waved her hands above the pile. The papers rustled under the bones. Moments later, the bones gradually started to twitch. Then, in an instant, the bones snapped together to form a small mouse. At first, it stood still on the desk, but then it scurried around, poking its nose on the different documents and books. 

Tharn’s eyes had moved from the mouse to Imogen. “This is why you came in here unannounced?”

Her smile faltered slightly, but she bounced on her feet. “His name is Osie. I made him last night. He can only stay stable for a couple of minutes, but, well…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just surprised I could do it.”

For a moment, Tharn watched the rodent try to make a nest out of his papers. He then glanced back up at Imogen. “It’s a start, I suppose. Congratulations.” 

This time, the smile had completely left her face. “You’re not impressed, are you?”

Surprisingly, Tharn chuckled, poking the mouse delicately. “I’ve seen better, yes. But don’t let my lack of enthusiasm take away from your accomplishments. You shouldn’t be looking for my approval or anyone’s approval for that matter. Better yourself because you want to, not because someone told you to.”

“But…”

“But what?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. I suppose...what’s the point, then, if no one approves? I mean,” she quickly added, seeing that he was about to respond. “I understand what you’re trying to say, Chancellor, I really do. Intrinsic motivation is ultimately more valuable than extrinsic, but extrinsic still has value. Why learn to talk if you have no one to speak to? Why learn to sing if no one will listen? Sure, self-satisfaction is there, but...well, perhaps it’s just me, but I feel that all people like to show off now and again.”

By this point, Tharn was resting his chin on the backs of his hands, watching her as she navigated through her thoughts. As she finished, a smirk grew on his face. “You have a valid point. I can attest I enjoy demonstrating my expertise, though it certainly isn’t the reason I do so.”

Bit by bit, her smile returned. “Why better yourself if no one can see how much better you are?”

Again, Tharn chuckled, straightening up in his seat. “Then I shall edit my response to you. Your...rodent is a rather impressive feat  _ for you _ .”

Her smile was back to glowing as she bowed. “Thank you, sir.” 

At that moment, while burrowing in some crumbled papers, the mouse froze. Then, the bones shuddered and fell apart. Delicately, Imogen picked up each bone, being careful as to not break or lose any pieces. 

Tharn gave her a wry smile as she cleaned up her mess. “Well, as exciting as that was, I can’t have you stay here. I’ve much I need to do, and it’s a rather private affair.” He fixed her a look, a mixture of amusement and deviousness. “Though I know you’d never even  _ think  _ to look through my things.”

By that point, Imogen had gotten used to that tone, used to that face. It was a threat, thought an idle one. She had learned that the Battlemage had many secrets, often ones that dealt with not himself but of the empire. He had to keep those secrets safe, and even though, by that point, he and Imogen had formed a rather pedagogical relationship, he still did not fully trust her. Or perhaps he did and simply did not trust the people she associated with. Imogen had gathered enough information to know Tharn disliked her father, but not enough to know why. Either way, she knew the threat was there because it had to be. It didn’t matter if it was Imogen he was speaking to or one of his wives or even his children. The threat had to be there. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she beamed. 

A bump in their travels pulled Imogen away from the memory. Was she really so effervescent back then, or was her memory faulty? She couldn’t tell. At any rate, it didn’t matter to her. It was the past. 

She looked over to Tharn, who had lapsed into his own silence, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of them. He was keeping an eye out for certain landmarks, trying to figure out when they would have to travel off-road. Imogen noticed Auferte was trailing behind, so she ushered him to catch up. 

“I thought you might have started to drift off,” Tharn grunted as Imogen joined him. “Wasn’t sure if your horse would stay tangible if you did. Would have been interesting to see.”

Running her fingers along the horse’s flank, Imogen nodded. “Oh, he would have. I’ve had him conjured while I slept before. In case Kalo and I required a hasty escape. We were sleeping outside. Auferte might seem all shadow and mist, but he’s...he’s real. Not sure how to explain it. I don’t have to feed him in the traditional sense, but I do have to charge the crystal now and then.”

“So, would you say he’s more Necromantic or Conjured?” Tharn asked. 

She nibbled on her lip. “Necromantic, I think. Infused the soul of an old horse in the crystal. At first, I thought perhaps it was cruel of me to make him keep working after death. His previous master put him down when the poor thing’s leg gave out. But Auferte doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, maybe I’m reading him wrong, but he seems almost happy.”

Tharn shrugged. “You gave him a second chance.”

Patting the stallion again, Imogen smiled. That’s how she had seen it when she gave the crazy idea a try. It had just dawned on her after seeing the poor thing being put out of its misery. She and Kalo had been passing by, traveling through Collovia on their way to Anvil to escape the war when they had passed the farm. When they saw the farmer leading the horse away from the herd, Kalo begged for Imogen to try to heal it. The farmer conceded and let her try, but hearing the horse whining, seeing the pain in its eyes...it got to Imogen, made it harder for her to cast. The most she could muster, she told the farmer, was to dull the pain while he mercy-killed it. As the farmer raised his axe, an idea started to form in Imogen’s head. Without fully understanding what she was doing, Imogen the Soul Trap spell she had practiced for a while. She knew she had Soul Gems in her pouch, but she wasn’t sure if they were close enough to the animal to work. Apparently, they were. She couldn’t save the horse in life, but she allowed it to live on in death. 

“He’s not the same horse as before, though,” she murmured, which caused Tharn to look at her. “I mean, you said it yourself, once upon a time. If you bring something back to life, it’s not really the person or thing it once was.”

He hummed, slowing his horse to a cantor. “Had I said that? Yes, it does sound like the sort of erudite warning I’d give. Truth be told, Imogen, I don’t actually know. I have hypotheses and conjectures, have read into the subject, but at the end of the day, I’ve only just begun to scratch the surface of Necromancy. The only reason I looked into it was to better protect the Empire from nuisances like Mannimarco.” He glanced away from her. “I suppose I didn’t do so well with that.”

By that point, Tharn started leading them away from the main road. Imogen frowned. “As if what Mannimarco did was your fault.”

“I may not have been the one to cause the Planemeld,” he grunted. “But I failed in my job of protecting-”

“You didn’t fail anything,” Imogen interjected. “Mannimarco is dead. The Planemeld is over. Molag Bal’s influence is fading. I’d say you did your duty.”

“I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen in the first place.”

Imogen huffed loudly, throwing a hand in the air. “It’s like talking to a wall with you…”

There was a beat. “Some of my wives have said the same thing.” Tharn sighed, though Imogen swore she heard mirth in his tone. 

She felt her chest tightened. Anytime anyone mentioned any of Tharn’s wives, Imogen tensed. She didn’t want to think about them. She didn’t want to know anything about them. She was afraid of what they were like, what drew him to them in the first place. She was afraid she would be nothing like them, non-desirable in his eyes. 

“H-how much further do you think we have?” she asked, using the opportunity to glance about and not look at him. 

If he had noticed the change in her tone, he didn’t comment on it. He pointed to a rock formation in the distance. “Once we get to those rocks, we’ll have to start heading northeast. Should only be another hour and a half.” He paused, watching her keep trying to keep her head straight ahead. “Actually, it worked to our advantage that you needed more rest. We still have the setting sun to light the way, but the air is much cooler.”

Her smile looked more like a straight line. “I’m glad my feebleness was useful, then.”

He stared at her for a moment before turning forward, keeping quiet. Nibbling on her lip, Imogen thought about starting up the conversation again, but she didn’t know what to say, and as time lapsed, she felt awkward breaking the silence. So, she nudged Auferte to keep pace with the Palomino and allowed the silence to linger over them. At first, it felt awkward, but she reminded herself of all those times reading in his study while he worked. There was always something so soothing about those times. Made studying a scary subject like Necromancy feel normal. As they traveled in silence, Imogen pretended they were in his study once again.

~.~

Even though night was falling, Kalo shaded his eyes with his hands, peering out into the wilderness. He had seen many explorers in this pose when keeping watch, though it had never dawned on him that they did this to block the sun.

“Any sign of them?” Khamira hummed as she approached Kalo’s rock perch. 

He squinted into the distance. “Hm...no, not yet.”

Khamira narrowed her eyes in the same direction before pointing. “There, down the valley. Dust clouds, most likely from horses.”

Kalo squinted harder and frowned. “I don’t see anything.”

With a chuckle, Khamira nudged him. “Probably because I can see better in the dark, Five-Claw.”

As she turned to head back, Kalo’s frown grew. “Why do you call me that? What does Five-Claw mean?”

She turned around to face him but continued heading toward the makeshift camp by walking backward. They were a few miles south of Rimmen, camping under the open sky. No tents, no tarps. Ready to move when the time was right. Khamira tilted her head as Kalo hopped off his rock. “It is difficult to explain, Kalo. But it is a good thing. An honor. It means you are courageous and fierce.”

“If that’s the case,” Kalo muttered as he kicked a rock. “You shouldn’t call me it.”

A smile danced on Khamira’s lips. “Ah, we are back to that again, yes? Your ‘great failure’ facing the dragon.” She stopped walking as Kalo caught up to her, but Kalo kept moving forward. “Why does this bother you so much?”

“Forget about it,” he mumbles, still moving toward the camp. “I’ll stop whining about it.”

Being taller has its benefits. In on small stride, she caught up to him and grabbed hold of his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “Listen to me. There is no shame in what happened, Kalo. It does not change my view of you. I still see you as the honorable warrior you have proven yourself to be.”

“I haven’t proved myself anything!” Kalo whipped around, glaring at her with a quivering lip. “I haven’t done anything! What, I fought a bunch of necromancers, a bunch of soldiers, but so has everyone else. I haven’t done anything for you to call me honorable or courageous or anything like that.”

Khamira’s expression did not change, though she kept her hold on him. “You carry too much weight on your shoulders for someone so young.”

He shrugged, trying to remove her hand, but she tightened her grip. Her claws poked his skin, keeping him still as she pressed on. “I was once your age, Kalo. And like you, I carried much weight. I was barely thirteen when the soldiers attacked. My father, King Hemakar, thought the new emperor had sent troops to bolster our defenses. He was wrong. My father's bodyguard, the King's Claw, escorted me to an adeptorium. I had insisted on visiting the Grand Adept of the Desert Wind and my father acquiesced. We were there when Euraxia attacked. Later, he took me to Gharesh-ri. I never saw him or my parents again."

While he wouldn’t look at her, Kalo sagged in her grasp. “I’m...I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

She shook her head. “I’m not telling you this so you can pity. I am telling you this because I want you to hear what I have to say. I was able to grow from the weight I carried. You don’t have to let it weigh you down. And I have seen you rise to the challenge time after time. You came to Anequina to help me and my people, and for what? Nothing. You wanted nothing but the thrill of the fight as your reward. That is what makes courageous. You work hard to help us fight for our freedom. That is what makes you noble. You don’t have to take down a dragon to prove yourself worthy of those titles.”

By the time she was done, Kalo’s head was bowed. She couldn’t see his expression, but she could feel his shoulders heave ever so slightly. They stayed like that for a few minutes before she patted his shoulder. “When Tharn and your sister get here, we can commence with our plan. With the key you got us, we’ll be able to take Euraxia down once and for all.”

Biting the inside of this cheek, Kalo glanced up and watched Khamira saunter back to the camp. With a shaky breath, he plodded back to his rock. He shaded his eyes and peered into the distance. A dust cloud was close. He took another breath, this one more stable. In a few minutes, they would be able to move into Rimmen. He would come face to face with Euraxia Tharn, and he would help Khamira dethrone her. 

“Get ready, Euraxia,” he whispered as he wiped his face. “I’m coming for you.”


	9. Fight for Rimmen - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be one loooong chapter, but the other half is going to take another week to write, so I got impatient and made it two parts wheeeeeeeee~

“Listen closely. We don’t have much time to spare, so I’d rather not have to repeat myself.”

The small brigade gathered around the fire, the wood stacked in such a way as to minimize the light. Clockwise stood Abnur Tharn, Queen Khamira, Lord Gharesh-ri, Captain Nala-do, Zamarak, Imogen, and Kalo. A little ways from the group, Cadwell pluck the strings of his lute. Tharn spoke in as low a voice as he could muster, wary of who, even this far from Rimmen, might have been listening.

“For this coup to work, timing is everything. We have one chance, and no room for error. If any of you are unsure of your resolve, now is the time to back out.”

“We all know the risk,” Captain Nala-do nodded. “We will do anything to see Queen Khamira take her rightful place on the throne.”

Khamira shook her head. “I appreciate your words, Nala-do, but this is much bigger than me. This is for Anequina.”

Tharn glanced around the rest of the circle. No one else said a word. His eyes lingered on Imogen, who had been staring into the fire. As though she could feel him, she glanced up and gave a small nod. 

“The siege weapons aimed down into the city,” he continued. “We need to disable them before Euraxia realizes she's under attack or she'll destroy Rimmen just to spite us. Kalo, you and Nala-do will destroy two of the installations. Khamira will take care of the third."

“Yessir!” Kalo saluted. 

Imogen furrowed her brow. “Won’t that alert Euraxia…?”

Tharn smirked. “I'm counting on it! After Kalo and Nala-do destroy the first two platforms and Khamira deals with the third, Euraxia will order her troops into the streets to defend the city. That will mean fewer soldiers inside the palace to hamper our assault.

“Once the sieges are down, we have a small window of opportunity to sneak into the palace. Kalo, you still have that key?”

The boy nodded, producing the key from his pocket. “We can get in through the crypts.”

Despite the situation, Imogen cringed. “Oh gods, not again…”

“Yes, that means another delightful trek through the sewers,” Tharn sighed. “But it is better than using the front door. The very moment the trebuchets are down, you three need to head directly to the sewer entrance. Do not linger a moment longer. The quicker we can get in, the more we can use the surprise to our advantage. It will not take Euraxia too long to figure out what we are planning once she has the city patrolled.”

Kalo frowned. “What about you guys?” he asked, gesturing vaguely to the circle. 

"Zamarak, Cadwell, and I will make our way to the sewers and deal with any Euraxians stationed there. Can't have them raise an alarm and alert my half-sister to our true intentions.”

The boy gave him a look. “That’s it?”

Tharn raised a brow. “Are you insinuating that my contributions are lacking?"

Twirling the key between his fingers, Kalo smiled. “Oh no, of course not. After all, you did plenty when you freed all those Dragons.”

“Kalo!” Imogen chided.

“Oh, how biting!” Abnur replied, tongue-in-cheek. “Was that supposed to wound my feelings? Amateur.” With his staff, he banged the back of Kalo’s legs. Kalo gritted his teeth, though he gave a wink to Khamira.

Khamira smiled at the boy and gave him a quick wink back before clearing her throat. "It is a well thought out plan, Tharn. But what of the Lord Speaker and Kalo's sister?"

Noting the smirk still on the boy's face, Tharn gave him a thwop to the head for extra measure. "Someone needs to remain behind and organize what remains of the militia. The Speaker of the Mane is best suited to the task. Besides, if we fail—though we won't—someone needs to respond when Euraxia unleashes death and destruction upon the city."

From her spot, Imogen had been glancing at the group. She couldn't help but notice the pattern in Tharn's description. He was going in order of importance. She was, of course, the weakest link. "And me?" 

"You are to be my eyes in the city, Imogen," he explained, fixing her a steady look. "If something looks wrong, if something seems amiss, I need you to alert us immediately. Do you understand?"

"What…" she bit her lip. "What should I be looking for?"

He shook his head. "I need you to utilize your intuition for catastrophe. Any number of things could indicate a failure on our part. If something feels wrong to you, it most likely is."

The speech almost seemed satirical, but Imogen noted how seriously he spoke to her. Was he trusting her judgment? Did he really believe she could assess the situation herself? 

Now wasn’t the time to think about it. She gave him a swift nod to show she understood. 

There was a moment or two in which no one spoke. Khamira’s eyes were fixed on Tharn. Kalo’s eyes watched the fire, the flames lighting his eyes. Tharn’s eyes drifted from each person as if he was trying to read their thoughts. “Any questions?” he asked. 

When no one spoke, Kalo lifted his head and gave the group a toothy grin. “Then let’s get this started! Operation: Dethrone the bitch Queen is a-go!”

Imogen groaned while the others cheered. “Kalo, please…” 

“Yes, Kalo,” Tharn said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulders. “Please. Queen Bitch flows much better.”

Thrusting a fist in the air, Kalo bellowed, “Prepare to be dethroned, Queen Bitch!” before taking off into the night. 

“Kalo!” Captain Nala-do laughed, running after him. “You’re going the wrong way!”

Khamira shook her head, though a smile lingered in her eyes. “Good luck,” she said to the remaining party before turning on her heels. “I have faith in all of you.” 

As Khamira made her departure, Gharesh-ri nodded to Tharn. “We are up against insurmountable odds. But your plan is sound. I hope it holds up in the end.”

“I do too,” Tharn sighed, placing a hand on Imogen’s shoulders. “Zamarak, you and Cadwell make your way to the sewers. I shall meet you there posthaste.”

At the mentioning of his name, Zamarak looked over. Until then, he had been quiet, almost seeming to sleep while standing up. Of course, he was not asleep, but he was in deep thought. He regarded Tharn for a moment, with almost a challenge in his eyes. But he said nothing. He merely nodded and made his way toward the strange man with the kettle on his head. 

“Oh, I do so love helping the cat people!” Cadwell chimed, almost as if he had been listening to the conversation the whole time. It was unclear if he knew the plan, however. Without argument, but with much talking, he followed Zamarak down the hill. Gharesh-ri shook his head as he watched the two depart. Tharn, meanwhile, tilted his head.

“I may not have figured out Khamira's true identity, but things have been hectic since I met her,” he mused. “Zamarak, though, he was easier to surmise. I recognized the bearing of the King's Claw the moment I saw him.”

Gharesh-ri smiled. “I will say nothing, my friend.” With that, he turned to make his departure, heading back to the small encampment just down the hill. 

“What do you mean?” Imogen asked, her body tense. She had tensed up the moment Tharn placed his hand on her shoulder, and she had noticed it still lingered. She wanted to bring it up, but she also didn’t. 

Tharn sighed and began to lead Imogen down the hill. “Just thinking aloud. A habit I acquired during my time in the archives at White-Gold Tower. Zamarak once served as a royal protector. From his bearing and the way he hovers near Khamira, he had to be one of the King's Claws. It's quite obvious."

She frowned, though partially because she was trying to concentrate on walking. With his hand on her shoulder, she was much closer to him than she was accustomed to, and it made her steps awkward and clumsy. She wasn’t sure if she should pull away or just accept her fate. “Do you think that’s why he was upset with your plan? He wanted to go with Khamira?”

“So, you noticed that as well,” Tharn chuckled. Finally, his hand left her shoulder as he rummaged through the pouch at his hip. Imogen noted how cold her shoulder felt without his touch. “Most likely, yes. The King's Claws were an elite squad of agents loyal to King Hemakar of Rimmen. They protected the king and the royal family, undertook special missions … all very hush-hush. It's a guess, but if I'm right it explains much about Zamarak."

From his pouch, he produced a flask, which he quickly brought to his lips. Imogen recoiled. “Are you drinking?” 

Rolling his eyes, he screwed the cap back on. “Don’t start. Just a small taste to calm my nerves.” Her shock must have been etched on her face, for he continued as if she had spoken. “Yes, Imogen, you heard correctly. It isn’t every day I’m orchestrating the death of a family member - though sometimes I’d like to. Because I know Euraxia well; she won’t give up the throne as long as she’s alive. And if this doesn’t go according to plan, well, I’ve just sent a bunch of people to their deaths.”

She pursed her lips, studying him. “I...I had always just assumed-”

“That I’ve hardened my heart to all emotions? That I’m an unfeeling automaton?”

“I didn’t say-”

“You don’t have to, I know that’s what-”

“Don’t put words in my mouth!” Flustered, Imogen stopped walking and ranked her fingers through her hair.

Tharn stopped as well, sighing heavily, though he didn’t bother to turn around. “I apologize. What were you going to say then?”

His voice was hard to read. She couldn’t tell if he was being sincere. Her fingers wrapped around a strand of hair. “I was just going to say that...well, that I always assumed you'd never mix emotions with business.”

He turned to face her, and for once, he gave her a look of utter confusion. “I don't, Imogen.”

She shook her head. “So then why would you open up now?”

“About what?”

“That you’re afraid.”

Again, he studied her, replaying the conversation in his head. Had he said that? No, he didn’t recall doing so. 

“You didn’t say it,” Imogen continued, her turn to guess his thoughts. “But you’re...you’re making no effort to hide it. It’s just obvious from the way you’re acting, from what you’ve said. You’re afraid of what will happen next.” She bit her lip, unsure if she should continue. “We...we either kill your sister or, well, like you said, a bunch of us will die. And you’re afraid of either outcome. Or rather...maybe afraid isn’t quite the right word. Apprehensive, perhaps, or even anxious. Anxious and guilty. People will die today, no matter what. I can’t help but wonder...how many people have died under your orders? How many lives plague your conscience?”

As she spoke, his visage hardened, whether in anger or thought, though, Imogen couldn’t tell. But she didn’t let it stop her. Once she had started, she couldn’t bring herself to silence her thoughts. Tharn kept quiet for a moment, then he cocked his head. “Pulasia would have liked you.” 

That wasn’t the response she was expecting. Though, she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. “Who?”

“My late wife,” he replied, placing his hands behind his back. As he spoke, he seemed to look past her. “She passed...by Mara, ten years ago. Divines, has it been that long? I suppose it has. At any rate, she would have enjoyed talking with you. She had that same sort of empathetic intuition you have. Speaking of which, we need to get moving. I want to show you where I think would be the best place for you to observe the town.”

Back to business. This time, Imogen noted how had been able to distract him. Indeed, they had been speaking so long that she herself had almost forgotten they had work to do until he mentioned it. She had somehow derailed him, and for a significant amount of time. And not only derailed him but almost completely alter his presence. For a moment, he wasn’t the hardened Imperial Battlemage sending troops out to war. He was just merely human. And she was the one to have brought it out.

  
For some reason, that made her proud. 

~.~

In a small alcove near the palace, Kalo rocked on the balls of his feet. This was it; this was a chance to do something heroic, something meaningful to everyone. Khamira would praise him. Even Tharn would take him seriously. And most importantly, everyone would forget about the stupid Dragon his sister killed. 

He could do this.

“How does this one look?” came the muffled question behind him.

Twirling around, Kalo almost choked on his laughter. “Like a filthy Euraxian is what you look like.” 

Dressed in heavy Imperial armor, Captain Nala-do growled, though even through the mask, Kalo could hear her amusement. “Gah! How do they see with this thing on? And the smell, ugh!"

“I don’t know, Nala-do, it’s very becoming,” Kalo chuckled with a broad grin. “I think you should keep it.”

“Dark Moons, no! Nala-do does not wish to stay in this stinking casket. It does not even have a hole for this one’s beautiful tail.”

His eyes glimmered as he glanced over at the gate a few yards away. “I can’t believe there’s only one guard. What idiots!”

Nala-do shook her head. “This one observed a few more soldiers on the platform, but not many. The Usurper Queen feels secure in Rimmen. We're about to change that. After this one deals with the soldier, you sneak in and burn the weapon. Then meet me at the northern platform.”

Kalo smirked. “Get ready, Euraxia. We’re about the light up the night.”

He watched as Nala-do scurried over to the lone soldier. From Kalo’s spot, he couldn’t quite hear, but he saw the soldier heave his shoulders and run off, his sword drawn. As the soldier passed, Kalo duck further back into his hiding spot. Kalo heard the man say something about finally getting to kill something. The boy made a face. How crude. 

When he felt the guard was far enough away, Kalo darted for the gate. Nala-do gave him a quick nod before running off in the other direction. Beyond the gate, Kalo could see the few soldiers that lumbered about the small platform. One sat on a crate, eating a pear. Two others lurked by the edges, peering down into the streets below. Though it was nighttime, the city was bustling, torches lighting up the pathways. As Kalo crawled over to the first trebuchet, he heard the two guards laugh and watched them chuck something off the tower. It made him scowl. How could he be the same race as those two idiots? 

The first trebuchet stood off on its own. Only the soldier sitting on the crate was near it, but she was too caught up in her thoughts to notice Kalo sidle over to the wall under the torch. He knew as soon as he moved it, the guard might notice the change in lighting. He’d have to be quick. As quietly as he could, he unsheathed his sword before reaching up for the torch. As his fingers wrapped around it, he thrust it up out of its sconce and at the trebuchet. As he had predicted, the guard on the crate noticed the light, especially since the ropes of the trebuchet seemed highly flammable. 

“Hey!” she called out, stumbling to her feet. “What do you think you’re doing?”

This, of course, caught the attention of the other guards. As they pushed away from the wall, Kalo rolled his eyes, watching the rest of the trebuchet catch fire. 

“What’s it look like I’m doing, idiot?” he taunted, throwing the torch toward the second trebuchet. “I’m cleaning up Rimmen.”

~.~

Imogen had to admit, Tharn knew what he was doing. When he led her into the city, he showed her an old guard post that oversaw the marketplace. For whatever reason, the Euraxians no longer used the post. Tharn suggested it was because Euraxia wanted more guards closer to her palace. Whatever the reason, they were in luck. 

“With you wearing that uniform,” Tharn explained. “No one should expect a thing. Just keep out of sight from the actual guards.”

She couldn’t help but wonder how long Tharn had had this planned. He had given her the uniform before the Euraxians attacked Riverhold. Had he known all along he was going to have her play this role? 

Sighing, she watched as some of the merchants started to lock up their wares. A Breton woman laughed with a Redguard man about some joke Imogen could not hear. As the two of them sauntered off, a Khajiit woman approached the stall of a Khajiit man, a child in her arms. The man, who had been bent over a stool, seemed to perk up as she approached. His laugh echoed off the walls as the child tried to squirm out of the woman’s grasp. A family, Imogen realized. The mother handed the child over to the father, who kept in his seat, while the mother took the spot by the counter. Were they not closing up for the day like the other stalls? Were they planning to stay open through the night?

“Maybe they must to earn a living,” Imogen murmured to herself. She still couldn’t believe she once fathomed the idea that Euraxia was a noble leader just because she was Imperial. Perhaps when all was said and done, Imogen would read some new history books, ones written by non-Imperials. She’d start with the Khajiit. 

When the Khajiiti family suddenly tensed, Imogen scanned the practically deserted marketplace. What could cause the family such alarm? At first, Imogen couldn’t tell, but then an overwhelming sense of dread showered her. She hardly caught a glance of him before she found herself crouching down, ducking inside the guardpost. What was he doing there at such an hour? Did he somehow know of their plan? And, more importantly, if Imogen could sense him, could he sense her? 

“Well, well, look what we have here.”

As he tapped his fingers along the edge of the post, he answered Imogen’s question. Her fingers dug into her arms as she stared hard into the walls of the post. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the orc. If she did, she was afraid of what would happen. She was afraid he’d see her fear. Not that it wasn’t obvious from how she was positioned now. 

He chuckled as she stared at the wall just inches from her nose. “I’m not going to hurt you, little mouse. Not now anyway. After that little parley in the palace, I’m shocked to see you hanging around Rimmen. I would have thought you’d be halfway to Cyrodiil by now. Then again, I suppose you can’t.”

Her fingers dug in tighter as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Wh...what do you want with me?”

“With you?” Phoom snorted. “Nothing. I’m out for personal business. Just passing through. But now, I can’t help but wonder what Abnur Tharn’s ‘bodyguard’ is doing skulking around the marketplace.” 

A commotion in the distance answered for her. Both of them look toward the noise to see a blaze light up the sky by the southern wall of the Rimmen castle. Imogen felt her throat tighten as Zumog Phoom laughed. 

“So, the Khajiits finally decided to fight back. Too bad it’s too late for them.”

Her instincts were screaming at her. Turn around and fight him. Run as fast as you can. Do something! But Imogen could do nothing but stare at the fire. She felt as if Phoom was holding her in place with just his presence. 

Somehow, she found her voice again. “What are you going to do?” it murmured. 

“Do?” he cackled. “I’m not going to do anything. I’m going to just sit back and watch them all burn. And if you were smart, you’d do the same.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Imogen held her breath as if she could hide from his gaze. Her heartbeat counted the seconds. The sensation of death slowly faded, leaving behind a shudder of dread. Releasing her breath, Imogen opened her eyes and whipped her head around. 

Nothing. 

Had he truly been there, or had she hallucinated? No, certainly Phoom had been there. She knew it in her heart. 

Her eyes snapped back to the fire coming from the castle. The plan was underway. Now that it had started, there was no way they could stop. But she couldn’t shake away that dread. 

_ Watch them burn. _

Imogen took another second to debate it, but then she quickly took off, her feet pounding against the stones. She weaved her way through the streets, dodging the bystanders that lingered, who watched the flames and gestured to one another and the guards who became to pour into the streets. She ignored the people opening their windows and animatedly talking to one another from balconies as she dashed toward the city gates.

As she started down the ravine, her legs gave way, and she slammed onto the ground, sliding a few feet down. Quickly, she picked herself up and forced herself to continue until she saw Cadwell and Zamarak. Even then, she couldn’t stop, and something grabbed onto her, holding her in place. 

“Easy, Imogen, easy,” Tharn murmured, trying to get her still. “With the way you were running, I thought you were Euraxia’s army.” 

Of course he had grabbed her. She hadn’t seen him off to the side. Her eyes had been solely fixated on the sewer entrance because that’s where she knew she had to get to. Even though he kept her still, her mind was still racing. “Phoom, Phoom, he saw me.”

“Slow down,” he said, loosening his grasp. “From the beginning. What happened?”

By this point, both Zamarak and Cadwell were studying her intently - well Cadwell was at least staring at her - and she felt her face heat up under their gaze. She couldn’t but help feel like a foolishly overly-panicked child. She took a breath, trying to slow her thoughts down. 

“In the city. Zumog Phoom found me in the marketplace. He saw the Trebuchets burning. He, he spoke to me.”

As she spoke, Tharn released his hold on her, though a hand lingered on her forearm. She felt that warmth again, but it felt odd to her this time. “And what did he say?” he calmly asked. 

She shook her head. “He said that...that he wouldn’t do anything. That he was just going to watch us all burn. And that...I should too.”

“He’s just trying to unnerve you,” he said, the same calmness to his voice, but Imogen couldn’t help but catch the small eye roll. “And it worked. You shouldn’t let him get to you.”

In an instant, she wrenched her arm away from him, recoiling like she was pricked by a thorn. Tharn’s eyes widened for a moment, but he remained the picture of patience as he watched her sneer at him “Don’t you dare use magic on me like that!” 

She was almost embarrassed about how long it had taken her to realize what he had been doing. All those chaste touches were nothing more than an excuse to use calming magic on her as he did with the horse when they rode to Rimmen. Her face reddened, though she hoped he would think it out of anger. How stupid she had been. To even fancy the thought he had another reason to be so close to her…

Tharn held his hands up defensively, but he bore no sign of guilt or even shame. She didn’t give him the chance to speak. “You told me that you trusted my instincts. So trust it now. Phoom is a much bigger threat than you are making him out to be.”

“I never said he wasn’t,” he defended. 

Then do not patronize me when I come to you terrified out of my wits!” she hissed. “You have no idea what I’ve had to go through when that Orc is near. Gods, it like…” she pursed her lips, placing her hands on her head. “...I cannot even begin to make you understand. I feel this sensation of...just death. He emanates death as though the souls of all those he has ever risen and misused were pouring out of him and grabbing hold of me, begging me to save them or, or to join them.”

With his hands now by his side, Tharn studied Imogen as she spoke. It was Zamarak, though, who replied first. “This one knows that which you speak of. Zamarak felt it when the dead fell over Riverhold. Like getting caught in a sand storm, surrounded by darkness.”

Imogen nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, exactly!”

“Nasty beastie, that Orc,” Cadwell interjected leaning against the sewer entrance. “Though I do think its the tusks that make him look so frightful. Why I can practically see him right now, reading some books, throwing things in a fire. Oh...oh, I can see him right now!”

Zamarak, Imogen, and Abnur all snapped their attention to Cadwell, whose eyes began to glow. “What do you see?” Tharn asked. 

Cadwell tilted his head as if to get a better look. “Things that would curdle the cream in your cabbage pie! My original head is a menace! And that necromancer, Zumog Phoom, he's even worse! They collected a pile of body parts. I think they're me! Or, the old me. It's all quite confusing...” 

Imogen glared at Tharn. “See!”

Again, Tharn regarded Imogen with a serious look. “I never said I doubted you. You insisted I did. Have you forgotten that I had you keep watch for a reason?” Shaking his head, he watched as Cadwell bopped himself on the head a few times before his eyes stopped glowing. “It’s obvious that Phoom is planning something. Both you and Cadwell have made that clear. But we must continue with the plan.”

As he spoke, Imogen saw over his shoulder her brother, Khamira, and Nala-do bounding down the hill. She swallowed, replaying the conversation by the fire. Once this started, they couldn’t stop it. It was there only chance. 

Tharn nodded to her as he watched her shoulder relax. While Kalo waved and shouted to everyone - being hushed by Zamarak and Khamira alike - he leaned closer to Imogen and spoke in a low voice. “Now it’s your turn to not put words in my mouth. Zumog Phoom terrifies you; I know. I meant no offense.”

He pulled away before she could even react, nodding to the others as they made their way down the ravine. As the group gathered, Imogen kept to herself on the sideline. Kalo animatedly recounted how the siege weapons were lighting the Rimmer skyline. 

"Why are we all standing around out in the open?” a voice spoke beside her, causing her to jump. She stared at Cadwell, wondering when he got next to her. “That's a terrible way to sneak up on someone. Believe me, I've tried!"

She shrugged. “I suppose we’re making sure we’re ready. Or perhaps...maybe we’re all a little nervous. Though I know no one here would admit that....”

“Nervous?” Cadwell chewed the air as if he ate something disagreeable. “Well, if that is the case, I'll scout ahead! Tally-ho!"

In a flash, Cadwell ran into the sewer. Imogen stared, dumbfounded. 

Tharn groaned. “Did Cadwell just run into the sewer?”

“...yes.”

“Oh, for the love of…” He sighed, turning to the rest of the group. “Well, no more time to prepare. But, there are too many of us. We need to split up.”

Khamira hummed and looked around at the group. “Hrrm. I will go with you. Captain Nala-do can lead the others."

Tharn huffed. “Barely queen for a day and already giving orders." He shook his head but gave no further argument. He looked to the others. “Make your way through the crypts and into the palace. We'll meet up there. But be prepared. Once Euraxia knows were near, we'll all be needed to finish her off.”

Before anyone could argue, he summoned a portal, and he and Khamira slipped inside. All that remained were Imogen, Kalo, Nala-do, and Zamarak. They glanced around at one another. It was Nala-do who broke the silence. “Everyone, unsheathe your claws. We have work to do.”


	10. We Interrupt the Story to Bring You a Father/Son Moment with Tharn and Kalo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i was going to wait to post this buuuuuuuut I didn't want to. Just a little drabble I wrote today. 
> 
> Takes place after Halls of Torment

All was quiet throughout the inn, and it drove Kalo crazy. 

He paced back and forth in the small room he and his sister shared. She was sitting on one bed, surrounded by a few books. When Tharn offered to pay her to help him with his research, she had eagerly quit her job at the tavern and accepted the offer, driving into the studies. While the pay was good, Kalo knew she took it because she was eager to stop cleaning floors and do something more academic. Tharn had even offered to pay for a nicer space, but Imogen had refused, saying the money already was too much in her opinion. 

While Kalo understood the research was to help them take down Mannimarco, he wanted to jump into action! Surely it wouldn't take Sai Sahan too much longer to recover. They should be on their way to get the Amulet of Kings any second now. 

"Kalo, dear," Imogen murmured, a pen in her mouth. "I love you, but please stop pacing. You're making me nervous."

"Everything makes you nervous," he countered, but for her sake, he stood still. He didn't want to upset his sister further. While she did a good job pretending, he knew the fact that he was currently soulless distraught her.

And it wasn't her fault he was so on edge. He had a lot on his mind. 

"If you're so eager to punch something, why not take another job at the Fighter's Guild?"

Kalo stiffened. Could she read his mind?

"Y-yeah, yeah, that's…" he gave her an awkward smile, though she didn't look up at him. "I'll go do that. Right now. No problem. Uh, have fun with your books!"

As he dashed out the door, he caught a glimpse of her glancing up at him, but he pretended not to see it. He wasn't acting odd. No sir, not him. Not Kalo the Vestige...though he supposed he needed a new name since Imogen brought up the title wasn't as majestic as he had thought. 

He made his way down the hall, hands in the pocket of his green cloak which dragged along his feet. As he reached the staircase, he paused. Going down would lead him to the exit. Going up would lead to the third floor where, coincidentally, he knew Tharn had rented a room. Because Abnur Tharn was too great to sleep in a cave, though Kalo couldn't understand why someone wouldn't want to. Frowning, he ascended the stairs. There was no way he could go to the Fighter's Guild. Not today. So maybe pestering Tharn would keep him occupied. 

The third floor was set up differently than the second. There were fewer rooms, the doors spaced out further apart. He recalled Tharn mentioning that his room was the last on the left side, in case Imogen had discovered something that could help them in their quest. Perching himself outside the room, Kalo rapped on the door. 

A rather loud sigh greeted him. "For the last time, Larona, I am no longer in need of your services."

Kalo blinked. "Who's Larona?" He shouted back. 

There was a pause. "Not you, as it turns out. Come in."

Shrugging, Kalo let himself in. As he did, he realized why there were fewer rooms on the third floor. Tharn's room was enormous compared to the dinky room he and his sister shared. Tharn sat at a desk which stood before an opened window that had a view of the inn's courtyard. A breeze batted the silken red curtains which were tied back with a golden colored rope. The desk was littered with almost as many books as Imogen's bed. Kalo couldn't understand how either of them could even figure out what books to even look at. He could never understand how to find answers in something that couldn't communicate with him. 

As Kalo glanced about the room, Tharn delicately dipped his pen in the inkwell. "Please tell me you're here to tell me those fools are ready to go after the Amulet."

Kalo frowned. "I wish…"

Another loud sigh resonated from Tharn. "How disappointing. Then what brings you by?"

By this point, Kalo stood next to the desk, fidgeting with the frayed hem of his cloak. "I need some advice."

Tharn's hand paused mid-word, though Tharn didn't look up from his page. "Well, that is what I do. Advise people. Though seldom do they listen." His pen began to scratch the paper once more. "What sort of advice do you need?"

The words poured out before he could stop them. "How do you tell someone you like them?"

After dotting an 'i', Tharn dipped his pen into the ink again. "That would depend entirely upon how we are defining 'like.' Are we speaking of the way individuals feel about those close to them, whom of which they enjoy their company, or are we speaking of that special sort of interest in another that makes one sometimes think of acting in a rather  _ libidinous  _ manner?"

When he glanced at Kalo, the boy was pulling the hood of his cloak over his face. Tharn smirked as he tapped his pen against the well. "So the latter then. Well, simply put, the best advice I can give you is to just confess. Much better than pining at a distance with no closure."

For a moment, the only sound was Tharn writing. Kalo lifted his hood to peek at the older man. "...just like that?"

"Just like that."

"But…" Kalo pursed his lips. "...what if-"

"You're rejected?" Tharn guessed, placing his pen upon the desk. He picked the parchment up and read over his work. "It is entirely possible, a very likely outcome. Yes, it'll sting, but just like any pain we suffer, we heal from it and carry on."

Kalo uncovered his head. "Have you ever been rejected?"

"Of course," Tharn admitted with a bit of a laugh. Placing the paper down, he leaned back in his chair and gave Kalo his full attention. "You don't get married seven times overnight. Kalo, you're young. You're going to get rejected many times in your life. Maybe not this time but perhaps the next time. Or maybe this time but not the next time. Either way, it is a part of life. I watched you skip merrily into Coldharbour, ready to take on any threat that approached you; I think you can handle the pangs of unrequited love"

For a moment, Kalo chewed on a loose piece of skin on his lip. Then, in the blink of an eye, he gave Tharn a toothy smile. “Okay, I’ll do it! Thanks Tharn! You’re not too bad for an old fart that sold out to Mannimarco!” 

Before Tharn could say a word, Kalo was out the door and running down the hall. Indeed, he could hear a bit of commotion as the boy must have run into someone. Running his tongue against the inside of his cheek, Tharn shook his head. “Cheeky little bastard…”

~.~

As the evening began to set, Imogen sighed, sifting through the pile of papers she had brought to the table. Tharn had somehow convinced her to take a break and show him what she had found. They were multitasking, eating what pitiful food the crude owners called a meal while comparing notes. 

“I’m not really sure if any of this will be useful,” Imogen frowned. “Sorry Chancellor.”

Taking a sip of his wine, Tharn took the papers. “Whatever it is, it’s a start.” 

Giving the potato a tentative poke with her fork, Imogen opened her mouth to explain her research when the door to the tavern swung open. A few people, including she and Tharn, glanced up to see Kalo holding a bloodied rag to his nose. In an instant, Imogen stood up. “Kalo! What happened?”

There were a few murmurs and laughs and other sorts of reactions from the others who quickly went back to their own business. Kalo ignored his sister and fixed Tharn with an accusatory glare before stomping up the stairs. 

Imogen called out to her brother again, heading in the same direction. However, Tharn caught up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “No, no, the last thing he wants is to be coddled by his older sister. Allow me.”

Before she could argue, Tharn was gliding up the stairs. Mirroring their interaction that morning, he knocked on the door. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Immy.” the boy groaned.

“Oh good,” Tharn replied, throwing the door open. “Because I’m not Imogen.” 

From his seat on the bed, Kalo picked up the first thing he got his hand on - a pillow, unfortunately- and hurled it toward Tharn. It missed him by a foot, hitting the door frame. Rolling his eyes, Tharn closed the door, leaning against it. 

Kalo groaned again, tightening the grip of the rag around his nose. “This is all your fault.” 

“I take it you were rejected?” 

“Rejected?” Kalo quipped. “Rejected? Oh, I wasn’t just rejected.” He removed the rag, tapping his fingers under his nose to see if it was still bleeding. It was. “He practically cringed, told me to never come near him again. And then, he told some of the other novices about it and they all made fun of me and one started throwing stuff at me and they all started and I got hit in the face with a rock. So yeah, I was rejected. And now I can never show my face at the Fighter’s Guild again.”

As Tharn listened, he cocked a brow, but only for a moment. The picture of neutrality, he kept any thoughts off his face as the boy ranted. As Kalo finished up, Tharn nodded slowly, scratching his chin. “I understand your hesitation, but you can’t hide. That would be the worst thing to do in this situation.”

“Oh great,” Kalo muttered. “More advice.”

Tharn folded his arms. “When I was a few years older than you...my father and I were at odds with each other. Could hardly be on the same floor as one another, so instead of having my tutors come to the manor, I went to them. When I set foot inside my history tutor’s home...that was when I first laid eyes on his daughter, Calana. I fell head over heels for her, despite the fact she was five years my senior. I was just starting to understand what it meant to be a Tharn, but I still mustered the courage I needed to confess my infatuation. She laughed in my face and told all of her friends about it. From then on, every time I came to the house for my studies, they openly mocked me. Without giving too much away, I asked my mother if I could get a new history tutor. She knew me far too well, though, and knew exactly why I wanted the new tutor.” He paused, stopping right in front of Kalo. “Do you know what she told me?”

With the rag back on his nose, Kalo sighed. “Not to hide?”

Tharn flashed his brows at him. “That I had control of how much her scorn affected me. Kalo, I know it’s not the same situation. Yours is much more...physical. But the same principle applies. I’m giving you the same advice because I know you can handle it. You’re strong enough to take it. You don’t have to go back tomorrow or even the next day, but don’t let a few idiotic pricks ruin something you enjoy.”

Blotting his nose, Kalo nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I mean, it’s not like I’m scared of them or anything. I just...still like him.”

“And you probably will for a while,” Tharn tilted his head. “Though maybe not too much longer. After all, you now know he’s not a nice person. But one day, you’ll get over him, and then you’ll find someone else that makes your palms sweat.”

Kalo brought his fingers to his nose once again. Finally, the blood had stopped gushing. He tried to not, but he couldn’t help but smile. 


	11. Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I felt like it's taking me too long to write the next part of this chapter, so I'm just going to post what I have and give you guys SOMETHING at least while I try to get myself motivated again. I know once I start writing again I'll be fine. It's just...ugh I'd rather sleep lol

The last rebellion Imogen lived through she had hardly noticed. But that was mostly her fault

It had started in the winter, a few months after Imogen had started studying Necromancy. While no one outright spoke about it, everyone in the Imperial City could feel the tension that was lingering in the air. Imogen could remember family dinners in which her father grumbled about policies being passed by Emperor Leovic. Imogen wasn’t up to date with all of the nuances; she had been much too busy with personal endeavors and hadn’t been attending court. It was one of those dinners that her father struck her with terrible news, ironically on the day she was secretly ecstatic. 

“We are going to be staying with my brother in Leyawiin,” Leondas said, not evening looking up from his meal. “You’ll need to help your brother pack.”

Imogen had been toying with a piece of paper under the table, hardly touching her food. The announcement snapped her to attention. 

“What? But why?”   
  


Huffing, Leondas dragged his eyes over to his daughter. “You would have to be blind not to notice it. Cyrodiil is on the brink of rebellion. We would be safer away from the capitol.”

With her father’s eyes on her, she clutched the paper tighter to her. “...until when?”

Leondas blinked at his daughter, who refused to meet his eye. “...until it is safe.”

“Yes, but…”

“Why are you asking all these inane questions?” her father sighed. He pointed his fork at her. “We are leaving tomorrow. That is the end of the discussion. If this is about your silly idea of being a mage, forget about it.”

Imogen clutched the paper. “How...did, did you read my mail?”

His attention went back to his plate. “The discussion is over, Imogen.”

“The discussion hasn’t even begun!” Imogen cried, shooting out of her chair. 

“Don’t you raise your voice-”

“It cannot be called a discussion-”

“-at me. You will do as I say and-”

“-if only one party is participating!”

“Fine!” Leondas threw his hands up before slamming his fork on the table. “By all means, then, Imogen, convince me. Convince me to allow you to attend the University. Convince me to let you stay here in the capital where it is dangerous. Convince me why it would be best for you to abandon your brother after all these years. Go on. The floor is yours.”

Standing there, her face hard, jaw clenched, Imogen stared at her father. She knew what she wanted to say, knew exactly how to answer all of those points, but she couldn’t get her voice to work. This was usually how their “discussions” went. Her eyes wandered over to little Kalo, who sat silently watching them, his fingers covered in potatoes and green bean seeds. While he was old enough to use a fork, he still preferred to use his hands, something that drove their father mad. 

She hated it when her father used Kalo against her. 

After a few minutes of silence, her father smiled. “Thank you, Imogen. I will consider your argument.” With that, he went back to eating his meal. 

But Imogen remained standing, shaking. As her father ignored her, she pushed herself away from the table. Before leaving the room, she stopped by Kalo and kissed the top of the boy’s head. “I’ll be home to tuck you in,” she said, shooting a glare at her father, who continued to ignore her. Kalo smiled up at her but didn’t say a word. He tended to stay quiet whenever their father was around. Patting his head, she made her way out of the dining room before grabbing her cloak off the hook, wrapping it around herself. She waited but a moment at the door, wondering if he would stop her. She knew he wouldn’t, but she gave herself the false hope that he would. After the moment, though, she swung the door open and let herself out. 

The streets were quiet as she walked. Typically people spent more time indoors during that time of year, but something seemed extra eerie about the silence. The people she did see outside did not smile at her as she passed, hardly nodding as she strode by. She wrapped the cloak tighter around her. The air felt like snow, though nothing fell from the sky. 

She came to a halt when she arrived at the White-Gold Tower. Typically only a guard or two stood by the entrance, but that night, there were at least seven. Cautiously, she approached them. The guards took note of her but did not address her until she stood before them. 

“I’m sorry miss,” one of them said. “But we are not to permit entry to anyone unless they have written clearance.”

Imogen flinched. Never had she not been allowed in the tower. The first floor was open to the public. “But, I…”

A guard she recognized gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, but those are our orders.”

She quickly realized where she knew him from. He usually guarded the floor Tharn’s study was located. “Would you be able to, to give the Chancellor a message for me?”

All of them tensed noticeably, though they kept their faces neutral. The one she had recognized faltered slightly. “What sort of message?”

Suddenly, it clicked. What her father had said at the table must have been true. Rebellion was in the air, and the guards were on high alert. She uncrumpled the paper she had been carrying with her, holding it up for all of them to see if they so desired. “I just wanted to let him know I was accepted into the university.”

“Congratulations,” was the response, but it didn’t come from either of the guards. They jumped to attention as Imogen spun around. As if she had summoned him, Tharn stood before her, in his arms stacks of papers and scrolls. “When will you be starting?”

Shrugging, she fiddled with the letter in her hands. “It says I can start tomorrow.”

“Wonderful,” he said, raising a brow. “But you hardly look delighted. I take it Leondas is trying to talk you out of it again. Has Leovic returned from his hunting excursion?” 

It took Imogen a moment to realize he was speaking to one of the guards. “No sir,” one of them said.   
  


“A pity,” Tharn tutted. “I suppose he’ll keep me waiting again. No matter. Lady Imogen, walk with me a moment. Take these to the council room.” With little decorum, he handed the papers to one of the guards, who looked at the others bewildered. Imogen could only imagine he didn’t know what to do, defy the Chancellor or leave his post. She didn’t envy him. Tharn didn’t wait for the guard nor for Imogen to follow. He began to saunter down the street. For whatever reason, Imogen quickly bowed to the guards before scurrying off to follow Tharn. 

He led them away from the Green Emperor Way, and Imogen quickly recognized the path to the Arboretum. She also noted the number of guards walking the streets, more than usually patrolled the area. 

“What has your father said to you this time?” Tharn asked in a conversational tone as they entered the park. 

As she glanced at the guards surveying the scene, occasionally turning their attention to the two of them, Imogen couldn’t help herself. “Are...are you under scrutiny?”

“Always,” Tharn replied flatly. “But don’t change the subject. This is about you.” In a lower voice, he added, “Try to ignore them. They’re just doing their duty.”

Biting her lip, she looked away. Suddenly, she felt selfish, to be so upset about her problems when, as it turned out, her father was right. The atmosphere in the city was changing; it was even affecting the great Abnur Tharn. 

But she knew better than to keep Tharn waiting. “He wants us to stay with my uncle in Leyawiin. Tomorrow. Says it would be safer there.”

“Ah,” came the simple response. 

Trying to keep her cloak closed, she shrugged. "I suppose...I suppose my studies will have to wait."

Tharn was quiet for a moment, tilting his head upward. "You know, the University is a good distance from the main city, and it is protected by its own set of guards that belong to the college, not the city. I would fathom it to be a rather safe place."

Imogen understood what he was trying to say. It made her wonder how much he knew about this supposed upcoming rebellion. Still, she shook her head. "You don't understand. He won't allow it. He…" she paused, feeling her throat tightening. Biting her tongue, she looked up at Tharn, who watched her curiously. He cocked a brow, and just like that, the words came pouring out of her mouth. 

"He's an idiot!" She shouted. "The most convoluted, irrational man. He insists he knows what is best for me, but how could he when he never listens? He just wants me to do his bidding, to strengthen his position, to, to be his little puppet. I don't want the life he's planning for me. I don't want the kind of job he wants me to have. I want to make my own decisions, live my own life. And then he had the audacity to dangle my little brother over my head, using him as a lure. 'You have to go with us, Imogen. Who would take care of your brother?' I love Kalo to death, but he is my father's child, not mine! Oh, he insists that he's not, he always does. Always accused my mother of cheating on him. Or if not that, that Kalo is actually mine. Did you know that? He accused me of hiding a pregnancy from him! He actually accused my mother of pretending to be pregnant with Kalo to hide the fact that Kalo is my son. Of all the inane, stupid...I have acted in my mother's place ever since she died. Everything I have done, I did to help my family. But the one time I try to do something for myself, he refuses to listen. I can't stand it!"

Tharn said nothing as Imogen practically flung her family’s dirty laundry into the streets. His eyes widened for a moment or two, observing her as she grew more animated and less reserved, but for the most part, his face remained neutral. A few of the guards that lingered nearby shifted at their posts. This wasn’t quite the excitement they were hoping for, but Tharn knew it was uncomfortably entertaining to them, to say the least. 

Once she was done with her father, she shot a hardened look at Tharn. “And then there’s you.”

“Me?” Tharn almost laughed, but he didn’t dare. 

“Yes,” Imogen huffed. “You. You always seem to tell me to do the opposite of what my father says. And oftentimes it’s what I want to hear. And I can’t tell if you’re only telling me to go against my father because you have some sort of personal vendetta against him or if you actually are trying to help me or if I’m only hearing what I want you to say and you’re actually telling me to do something completely different.”

Tharn held up a hand. “I’m stopping you there. I never tell anyone what they want to hear. I tell people what I believe.”

Sighing, she kicked at a loose cobblestone. “Either way...I can’t…what should I do? No,” she said before Tharn could even think about opening his mouth. “No, don’t...don’t say anything. I...that’s my problem, isn’t it? My father keeps telling me what I should do. You tell me what I should do. I should…”

She trailed off, her eyes drifting over the statues of the Divines. Her face relaxed. “I should find my own answers.” 

His gaze followed hers for a moment, but it quickly returned to her, watching as she stood up straight, her head leveled. Her cloak no longer appeared to hide her. “I certainly wouldn’t stop you.”

The two of them remained quiet for some time, their pace sluggish. He studied her as she stared ahead in deep thought. For a brief second, he knew why he did. A realization dawned on him, one that he was wholly familiar with, but in this scenario, it made him look away. 

“Then it’s settled,” she whispered, but though her voice was quiet, it was firm. She slowed to a halt, casting her eyes over to Tharn. While there was a smile on her face, she still bore that seriousness that had suddenly come over her. “I cannot replace her. That is not my duty. And she...she wouldn’t have wanted me to. It’s time I started living my own life, shaping my own destiny. And my destiny...it isn’t in Leyawiin.”

Again, he nodded to her. “As I said, the University is a safe place.” 

His tone held some sort of message. Imogen could tell that much. She knew better than to press. Smiling, she took a few steps back and bowed lightly. “Chancellor...whatever it is...whatever occurs in the next few weeks or months or...please stay safe.”

He didn’t respond to that. Rather, when she stood back up, he placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “I need to return to the palace. I’d tell you to study hard, but I know you will.”

Sometimes, Imogen looks back and wonders if she had known he was apart of the revolution, would she have supported him? Back then, she zealously followed the Empire, which meant being loyal to the Emperor. Had she known Tharn was working with Varen to overthrow Leovic, would she have demonized him? 

It probably wouldn’t have mattered. Either way, her heart was too full of him. And it remained that way as she returned home to pack her things, not for Leyawiin but the University. 


End file.
